Harry Potter and the Darkened Horizon
by CharlieIsAGod
Summary: Harry Potter is now mute after his time with Dolores Umbridge who tortured him. Harry falls into a hopeless depression. His only solace comes from Hermione Granger and together they battle between living and existing, struggling to find the parts of themselves that they lost. HxHr Warning: very dark! M for graphic violence and sexual situations. AU
1. A Terrible Beginning

**Content Warning: Nothing about this story is rated less than M, this chapter included. This story flirts with some very dark themes and is generally not suitable for younger audiences. If detailed violence of any kind, explicit language, or sexual content offends you, do us both a favor and find something else to read. Thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jk Rowling owns everything.**

 **Author's Note: Hey, Thanks for checking out my story. This is an idea I've been trying to see written for sometime now and seeing as I'm very picky about my writing it may take me some time to finish it. I hope you all enjoy it and feel free to leave a review if you'd like. I always like to read them. If you find any spelling or grammatical errors that you would like to bring to light, please pm me and I will get to them as soon as I can. Thank you again, and enjoy :)**

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Chapter 1: A Terrible Beginning

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was located in London under the guise of an old, abandoned department store. It was the main hospital for all witches and wizards who needed healing in Great Britain. Lately, however, the outer street had been infested with reporters from all the most notable wizarding newspapers, like the Daily Prophet, and even the not so notable journals, like the Quibbler. Each surly faced witch or wizard standing near the entrance had been thwarted by the head mediwitch awaiting their attempts to break in. They had all gathered to see one person, and one person only: Harry Potter.

The aforementioned 15 year old was alone in a small hospital room on the third level. Laying awake in his bed, his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose in response to the bustling noise below, forcing his round, black glasses farther up his face. Many who knew him would now describe him as unrecognizable. His once youthful face had been replaced by a sallow, sickly sack of bones. Scars were evident on every inch of his body. Fading yellow bruises lingered on his cheekbones, chin and nose and even the small rest of visible skin revealed by the hem of a white, long, sleeved shirt. But the most changing feature was the dark, deadened green eyes that seemed to stretch into an eternity of unfathomable pain.

His story was the one that the reporters wanted to hear. It had been discussed, rumored, but now as he sat unguarded, they all wanted a taste of the truth. What they hadn't realized is that Harry Potter hadn't uttered a word for three months and did not intend to break his silence anytime soon. He had made a conscious decision long ago that no good could come from him speaking, not after what he had seen...endured. There was a darkness in this world; Harry wanted to stay far away from it.

The door to his room opened, and Professor Dumbledore, the recently restored headmaster of Hogwarts, strolled inside. Harry stiffened.

"Harry," he said, his voice was soothing, almost understanding, "I beseech you. You're the nail in her coffin, Harry. Agree to testify."

Harry stared at a deep scar on his left hand. And didn't speak.

Dumbledore let out a long, sorrowful sigh. "Justice needs to be done."

Harry's eyes wanted to flicker to his in anger - no, fury - but he forced them straight. He wouldn't break...he would never break.

Dumbledore shifted, raised a hand, before finally saying, "Hiding from the darkness will drive you mad."

Harry almost laughed...almost, though it would have been a dry and bitter sound - dead, like his eyes. Dumbledore didn't have the faintest idea of exactly how mad he was. Mad didn't even cut it. Harry knew that he, himself, was very far past the point of insane.

Dumbledore pulled up a wooden chair from the corner of Harry's room and sat on it, directly beside Harry's head. Harry turned his neck to stare out the window in the opposite direction. He didn't want Dumbledore here. He didn't want anyone here.

"If you wish to remain silent that is your choice. I suppose I may even deserve it after how I treated you last year before my absence. It was so foolish of me to ignore you. You see, I was afraid that your connection with Voldemort was not one-sided. I assumed any information I passed on to you would inadvertently be passed on to our worst enemy. With much consideration, I thought it best to shut you out. It was a mistake. I know this now, Harry. I am incredibly sorry." Dumbledore stared regretfully at the young man lying silently on his bed. The scars that mutilated his body were a mark of his untold horror. Dumbledore waited for a response, though didn't really seem to expect one. A few minutes passed before the headmaster spoke again.

"Don't think I'm foolish enough to think your silence is a personal vendetta. I realize what happened to you, Harry."

Harry was listening to Dumbledore, more because there was simply nothing else to listen to. Head still averted, Harry wanted nothing but to be alone.

Dumbledore tried again. "I know what she did to you. She used the torture curse, did she not?"

Harry didn't answer.

"You were locked in one of the old holding cells in the dungeons for months. I've also been told you weren't given much to eat. Your Healer told me you were little more than a skeleton when you arrived."

Harry didn't speak, though by now a small bit of dewy perspiration was collecting above his brow and a small spike in his pulse had his breath speeding up.

Dumbledore sensed weakness. "You had been stabbed...several times from the look of it."

A flash of a sinister memory bounced in his brain like a never fading echo. Cold, blue eyes, a laugh, a blade piercing his stomach, a scream - his scream...Harry's hand clutched the sheet below him.

"Miss Granger is here too. And Mr. Weasley...did anyone tell you?"

Harry's forehead creased and a distant ache in his chest reminded him that indeed he did miss his friends.

"They brought dementors in to guard yourself and your fellow 'rebel' students. That must have been hard for you. Professor Lupin told me in your third year that the dementor is your boggart."

Harry shuddered, his breath very heavy by now. Harry knew what Dumbledore was doing, which, in Harry's opinion, made him just as bad as the ones who had hurt Harry in the first place. What difference does it make what kind of torture someone uses to get the information they want?

"I was told something else, as well," Dumbledore murmured, his voice burning with compassion now, "I was told that you were tortured on my behalf."

Harry noticed a strain in his voice and wondered if he was struggling over his words. Harry hoped he was with a bitter taste on the back of his tongue. He wanted to hear no more. But, alas, Dumbledore's soft melodic voice reached his ears yet again.

"That, well, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to apologize fully for. No child should have to suffer the way you suffered, especially for an old, withered man like myself." Dumbledore looked at his hands - wrinkled from years of life and use.

Harry mentally scoffed. He wasn't a child...not anymore.

"Perhaps I'm not the best company. But I beg you to find solace in someone, Harry. This silence...it could kill you." Dumbledore stood, seemingly resigned to Harry's muteness. He turned on his heel, hesitated in the door frame, before finally leaving.

Harry curled himself into a ball. Resting his chin on his knees, he shook himself back and forth, eyes wide. Harry often found himself lost in the darkness of his mind. Fighting against it, he dug his bitten fingernails into the flesh of his arms. The hard protein bit into the skin even through the fabric of his shirt and left painful marks in their wake. Harry didn't care. Physical pain was familiar, tolerable; emotional pain was not.

In the empty silence, Harry allowed his brain a small amount of freedom to wander once he was sure no dangerous memories would try to rip him apart. The first thing he thought of was Hermione. He wondered where she was and if she was okay. The last time he saw her was...a flash of wild, brown hair and a dark cell made him cringe and flinch away. Instead, he remembered a simpler, happier time with her, one where he could speak freely. Harry continued his rocking, his chin digging into his knees as his heart burned with longing. He would give anything to be able to find himself again, the easy going, happier Harry. But, as he stared at the scars covering seemingly every inch of his body, he knew without a doubt: that Harry was dead and had died long ago.

Harry Potter was a shell of his former self.

Clutching at his wild black hair, he gazed unseeing at the end of his bed while he rocked. Everything was so painful now. Even the happiest of his memories were laced with a bitterness he didn't understand. It was as if someone had poured flammable liquid into his thoughts and set them on fire. Everything he recalled burned against his eyes, spread to his chest. Was he dying? A part of him hoped he was.

Try as he may to fight it, his brain revolved around the pit of his memories. Too many things reminded him of the horror...the cold, tiny cell...the never ending pain aching in every part of his body. How could he stop himself from thinking about all he knew now? His life had been replaced with a dead man's in that cell.

Harry rocked and rocked, teetering on the edge. He pulled at his hair, but to no avail at stopping the memories. They were bartering him and he was sure he would never escape them...

 _Professor Dumbledore vanished from behind his desk. Cornelius Fudge, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Dolores Umbridge, and Harry Potter stared dumbfounded at the spot where he disappeared. Shaking with anger, Fudge rounded on Harry and seized the tops of his arms._

 _"Where did he go!?" Fudge demanded, jarring his shoulders._

 _Harry's brow furrowed as he attempted to shake out of the small, round man's grasp. "I haven't the faintest idea!" Harry shouted back, finally free and rubbing his arms._

 _"Rubbish!" countered the Minister, pointing a finger in his face, "You, of all people, Potter, would know where he is. You're the Golden Boy." Fudge's face, still seething with fury, turned mocking._

 _Umbridge cleared her throat behind them, her toad-like face fixed into a pleasant smile. "Perhaps I could get the answer out of him, Minister," she said, "With your permission."_

 _Fudge nodded slowly, his eyes still on Harry's. Straightening, he turned to the stout witch behind him. "Yes...yes, gather any information you can from the students, Dolores. I am assuming you're ready to fill the role as headmistress?"_

 _Umbridge puffed out her chest and said proudly, "Of course, Minister."_

 _Fudge turned to Kingsley. "We'd best round up our top men in the mean time, Shacklebolt. We must be on the watch...vigilant for any sight of Albus." The two men strolled from the room, heads bent low together as they continued to converse. Harry wondered whether Kingsley knew where Dumbledore was already, being a member of the Order._

 _Professor Umbridge turned to Harry, her face fixed in its usual pleasant mask. "I think now is an excellent time to issue your punishment, Mr. Potter," she said, her voice as polite as her face. Harry's mouth had gone suddenly dry. An inexplicable fear was lifting the hairs on his neck and it was coming from the hungry, nearly animalistic expression burning in her eyes._

 _Continuing in the same conversational tone, she pointed her wand at his chest and said, "Have a seat." With her other hand, she waved to the long backed chairs resting behind Dumbledore's old desk._

 _Harry hesitated then edged toward the chair, his eyes fixed on the toad faced woman. The second Harry had settled himself in the chair, Umbridge flicked her wand at Harry. Thick ropes tangled around Harry's wrists, ankles and stomach, tightening until he could hardly move. They dug painfully into his skin, cutting off the circulation._

 _Umbridge strolled toward him, halting when her knees nearly brushed his. "Where is your wand?"_

 _Harry didn't answer, but he could feel his wand against the outside of his thigh, concealed by the right sided pocket of his robes._

 _She smacked him hard against his left cheek. Harry's head swung to the side from the impact. Looking out of the corner of his eyes, he glared, both furious and thunderstruck by her direct violence._

 _"I asked you a question, Mr. Potter."_

 _Harry still didn't answer. He wasn't going to make anything easy for her. No...he wasn't going to utter a word. She sighed, aggravated by his lack of cooperation._

 _"I'll give you one more time to answer. If you do not, I will force the answer from you," she murmured._

 _Harry stared at her, smug and very silent._

 _"Very well...," she muttered, her mask slipping into an expression of obvious hatred and disgust. Then she pointed her wand at his chest and said, "Crucio!"_

 _Harry writhed, though not very successfully within his bindings, against his chair. His teeth clenched tightly while he endured the terrible sensation of being stabbed...everywhere. Other thoughts evaded him during the new headmistress's torture. It seemed as if the blinding pain had consumed his ability to think, blocking all other trails of thoughts from even crossing his mind. For a moment, Harry could not remember his own name. Gasping and trembling, he collapsed against the ropes holding him in place when Umbridge finally pointed her wand to the ceiling. She then laid the tip of it against the palm of her other hand and took a sharp breath in from her nose. Still shaky and trembling, Harry flicked his eyes up to hers, above his glasses that had slid a few centimeters down his nose._

 _"Are you ready to tell me where your wand is?" she cooed, the pleasant smile returning. Harry spat at her feet._

 _Cringing, she jumped back. Then, without warning, the Cruciatis Curse was bearing down on Harry again. His mouth opened in a silent scream, but no sound ever emerged. It seemed to last hours. When it ended, her palm collided with Harry's face a second time, then a third, before she was yanking his hair back roughly, a fist of his wild, jet black strands clenched in her stubby fingers._

 _"If you ever do something so vile again I will sew your lips shut. Do you understand?" Her voice was low and dangerous, so close Harry could feel her breath on his chin while he struggled out of the grip of her hand. Panic was rising in his chest. He tried to think of a way to escape this woman but there was simply no solution. To escape her would be to escape Hogwarts. Where could he go besides Hogwarts? Not the Dursleys', that was for sure. If he managed to get away from Umbridge, he would become a wanted fugitive, just like Dumbledore...only Harry didn't think himself quite as resourceful._

 _Umbridge released his hair and Harry let his head fall forward, hiding his terrified eyes from her. He'd known she was horrible...but this...Harry never expected this._

 _He saw her fingers grope his pockets until they felt what she wanted. Her hand disappeared behind the pocket of his robes, only to return a second later with his wand. Harry stared desperately at it until it was hidden inside of Umbridge's robes._

 _"Well...I can only imagine how uncooperative you'll be when I start asking more difficult questions," Umbridge said with a Mephistophelian grin. "No matter...I'll keep this up until I break you. And I will break you, Mr. Potter."_

 _Gritting his teeth, he lifted his head and stuck out his chin in defiance. As Harry thought before, he had no intention of making this easy for her._

 _"Tell me the whereabouts of Albus Dumbledore." She hardly gave him enough time to answer before the torture curse was crushing him again. She repeated her question when she lifted the spell, only to cast it down again and again when Harry didn't answer._

 _It continued this way for hours. The sky was black outside before she showed any signs of stopping. Harry was trembling from head to toe as Umbridge stared coolly at him. He felt so weak...he'd never felt so weak in his life._

 _"I can see this will have to be extended and I am afraid that I do need sleep. Wait here, Mr. Potter." Umbridge clicked off in her short, pink heels, disappearing behind the door of her office._

 _Harry thrashed and thrashed against his bindings, ignoring the black spots clouding his vision. The chair creaked in protest and he struggled harder, desperate, until the chair was tipping backward. Harry glanced back at the floor creeping closer, saw the end of the platform he and the desk rested on and several steps directly behind him. He tried to jerk forward but the motion had him toppling quicker to the drop behind him. The middle of the backrest collided with the hard, stone edge of the first stair. The wood shattered to pieces, leaving Harry unprotected as he toppled, backward, down five, very solid steps. His head collided with the solid floor first and all went black._

Harry jumped out of the memory, panicky and breathless. His deep, green eyes stared unseeing at the white wall in front of him. Sweat dripped down his face to his chin and he wiped it on his sleeve with a trembling hand. A foul feeling crossed his stomach when Harry cursed himself for being so easily affected by his own mind. After all, this memory was quite tame in comparison to many of the others he had lingering inside his brain.

Harry's wide eyes continued to stare at the wall ahead, blank and tired. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept a full night. Even now, away from that place, he couldn't rest...his mind would simply not allow it to happen. What would become of him? He couldn't sleep, he could hardly eat. Every time he shut his eyes he saw Dolores Umbridge's face grinning maliciously down at him. Harry never thought there would be anyone who affected him worse than Voldemort...but Umbridge had stolen his soul.

Laying back onto his pillow, Harry stared up at the ceiling praying to a god he didn't believe in that he would find rest.

God is cruel; Harry learned this quickly. The moment he shut his eyes, he was sinking into the pit. He tried to claw at the edges of his mind...but there was nothing to keep the festering blackness at bay. It was swallowing him whole.

 _Harry woke with a throbbing headache pounding against the back of his skull. Glancing around himself, he found that he was in an unfamiliar, stone room. The only door had been shut and locked and there was only a dim light coming from the crack beneath the thick iron. Standing unsteadily, he moved about the room, trying to find any sign of weakness within his cage. He found none._

 _Stiff and sore from a night spent on the hard ground, he settled himself to the stone beneath him with a grimace. Things were beginning to look very grim and hysteria was flaring in his chest, squeezing his heart._

 _Before he had much time to ponder his fate, the thick, iron door to his cell opened and Harry jumped. Standing in the doorway was Umbridge, Filch right behind her._

 _"Hello, Harry." She greeted him with a smile, like an old friend. Harry concealed a shudder. Umbridge walked carefully into the cell, her wand pointing at his forehead, saying, "Wondering where you are?" Harry didn't answer but she continued to speak as if he had. "You've been moved to one of the old school dungeons. Mr. Filch here reminded me that there is a small prison beneath the school. It hasn't been used for centuries, of course, but I'm thinking of putting it to good use. Starting with you," Umbridge said happily, jabbing her wand closer to him - making him flinch. "This is your new home! You can forget about the Gryffindor common room, forget about your friends, you can even forget about Gryffindor...you belong to me now Harry. And very soon, it will be legal for me to do the things that I so very much wish to do to you and your classmates."_

 _A cold trickle slid down Harry's spine in response. Not even when the urge and curiosity scorched his throat to ask what exactly those things were did he forget to hold his tongue. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction._

 _"Not that the illegality of my actions will stop me from gathering the information that the Minister has requested. So...without further ado, I ask that you accompany me, Mr. Potter."_

 _Harry stared at her. All the possibilities of action were zooming around his head. Should he try to escape? Should he just go with her to avoid extra torture? Should he lie about information to try to get off the hook? He wasn't sure._

 _Umbridge seemed to think he took too long to decide. Nodding once in Filch's direction, she stepped slowly away from him, moving backwards. Filch, with a grunt, kicked Harry in the stomach with his good leg. Harry gasped, clutching his abdomen with both arms, and doubled over._

 _Umbridge muttered beneath her breath and Harry was suddenly bound around the wrists; his forearms snapped together, connected by a strong cord wrapped around his flesh many times. The end of his bindings extended several feet and was clasped in Umbridge's hand. She handed the rope to Filch carelessly and motioned for the two of them to follow._

 _Harry had only two choices left: walk to his fate or be dragged. It seemed obvious not to choose the latter, though Filch determined himself to make walking for Harry all the more difficult. Forcing Harry to walk in front, Filch, every chance he could, would kick the back of Harry's knees to make him fall. The second Harry collapsed, Filch shouted at him to stop struggling with a sharp kick to Harry's side. Umbridge always fell for Filch's dirty trick, turning and using the torture curse on Harry for a false accusation. They hadn't even made it to their destination and Harry was already nearing collapse._

 _These parts of the dungeons Harry had never seen. He supposed they must be far beneath the castle, farther beneath even Snape's dreary classroom. They only walked deeper, the hallways growing dimmer and dimmer._

 _Nearly 15 minutes passed before Umbridge stopped in front of a large door and opened it. The three walked inside, Filch trying to knock Harry to his knees all the while. It was a cavernous hall that greeted them, filled with ancient looking torture devices. Some Harry had heard about, others he'd only seen pictures of, and the rest he'd never seen before at all. However, each was more terrible to look at than the last. Harry felt abruptly breathless as he stared around the room. How much of this would he have to endure?_

 _The new headmistress swiveled around, her bright pink cardigan making her appear much less menacing than Harry knew her to be._

 _"I imagine you must know what some of these devices do, Mr. Potter," she murmured somberly, her hands folded in front of her._

 _Harry's throat felt much too dry to answer, so instead he nodded carefully, trying to make his face hide his fear._

 _"Then you must be feeling concerned. But you needn't. In order to never have to personally endure the terror...of this for instance," she said, her hands lifting a thin piece of metal with two prongs on either end of it from a wooden table. It had a thick leather strap hanging from the middle of it. "Do you know what it does?"_

 _Harry stared at it, his breath increasing. Slowly, he shook his head._

 _"It's called the Heretic's Fork. And you need never know how it works if you only cooperate with me."_

 _She was baiting him. Harry thought his heart might break through his chest with the force that echoed against his sternum. He kept quiet and attempted to keep his shaking to a minimum._

 _Still holding the fork, she stepped slowly towards him. "Where is Albus Dumbledore, Harry?"_

 _Staring at the sharp, crude object in her hand, Harry whispered, "I don't know."_

 _"Really?" Her voice was candy coated and gave Harry a stomach ache. "I'm not sure I believe you."_

 _The truth was that Harry had no idea where Dumbledore was. The latter hadn't spoken to Harry all year. Though, as Harry stared in her maniacal eyes, he knew that she didn't care whether he knew the answer. There was no doubt in his mind: Dolores Umbridge wanted to hurt him._

 _"You don't have to believe me," Harry said quietly, standing his ground, "But it's the truth."_

 _Umbridge grinned her sadistic smile, before flickering her eyes to Filch. Harry had no time to react. Within a second, Mr. Filch had kicked the back of his knees again, knocking Harry to the ground._

 _"In that case, perhaps you will find out how this beauty functions," Umbridge murmured. "Hold his head."_

 _Filch darted forward and grasped the sides of Harry's skull in a vice like grip. Harry struggled against him as Umbridge moved closer with the Heretic's Fork squeezed in her hand. She was excited; her eyes were bright as she wrapped the leather strap around his neck. The bottom prongs rested against his sternum and, as Filch jerked his head back, the top rested beneath his chin. The metal would pierce his skin if he allowed his head to fall forward, which was obviously the intent._

 _"There," Umbridge said sweetly, like she'd done nothing more than tie a bow around his neck._

 _Breathing deeply, Harry had his neck stretched back completely, though he could still feel the prongs scraping across his skin._

 _"Hang him upside down, over there." She pointed to a wall behind them. Harry gaped at her. Perhaps he hadn't heard her correctly?_

 _"Yes, Mr. Potter. This is the most effective way of using the Heretic's Fork. It'll be much harder to hold your neck like that when all your blood is rushing to your head."_

 _Filch was already dragging Harry to a pair of shackles hanging on the wall. He stared at them for a moment before turning to Umbridge._

 _"How should I...?" he began._

 _"Oh, for Heaven's sake, you Squibs are useless!" Umbridge waved her wand with uncontrolled exasperation. Harry was wrenched around, flipped upside down, and slammed against the wall. He barely registered the fact that the shackles were wrapping themselves around his ankles for the fork fastened around his neck had punctured through the fleshy, tender skin in the space of his jaw during Umbridge's forceful magic. His agonized scream was drowned by his teeth which were now fused together. The prongs of the fork had torn through the bottom of his mouth and pierced the corner of his tongue. Blood pooled in his mouth but he couldn't spit and he couldn't swallow. The bottom half of the device had torn through several layers of skin around his collarbone before piercing through the hollow at the base of his throat._

 _He thought it would be the end. As he hung upside-down, his wrists still tied together, he watched the blood drip beneath him, forming a puddle. The blood pooling in his mouth was beginning to escape through his nasal passage dripping in even streaks down his face from his nose._

 _Umbridge's girlish giggle echoed hollowly in his ears. "My, my...what a mess." She clicked her tongue and stared at him with those huge, toad-like eyes. Harry spluttered as much blood as he could from his lips and tried desperately to breathe. The pain seemed to be the only thing that would register in his mind. They way it burned against his jaw and chest._

 _Filch stared at him with apparent horror. He kept sneaking nervous glances at the headmistress, though he didn't dare speak. It was clear his disdain for the Hogwarts students and his desire to see them punished didn't stretch this far. Harry turned beseeching eyes upon him, but Filch was rooted to the ground, torn between what was right and saving his own skin. Ultimately, his own wellbeing won out and Harry could clearly see the hardened set in his eyes before Filch turned finally away from him._

 _Harry knew he was completely alone. No one was coming to help him. The scarlet liquid filling his mouth clogged his respiratory tract and drowned away his consciousness slowly. The last thing Harry was aware of was the vertically flipped Umbridge grinning demonically at his diminished form._

Coughing and gagging, Harry awoke to the sounds of his own screams. Several mediwitches had gathered around him attempting to sooth his flailing, writhing body. It took several moments before Harry realized that he was no longer in the presence of that wretched woman. He collapsed against the many pillows on his bed, clutching his throat and feeling the scars indenting his chin and collarbone. The mediwitches left hesitantly after several moments of trying to gain answers from him. Harry said nothing, of course; instead, he stared into a corner of his room with a deep sorrowful emptiness settled into his bright green eyes. Each witch had a very similar feeling of desperate pity for him as they walked from his side, wishing they could take away the unfathomable torture burning beneath those breathtaking eyes.

Harry, revelling in his loneliness once more, removed himself from his bed sheets. Draping his legs over the edge of his mattress, he took a deep breath and stood. The weight felt awkward on his bony legs. His left ached very much in protest, but it was much less than he was used to. Limping carefully forward, he grasped the edges of the window sill and took another shaking breath. Harry turned watery eyes upon the dark, night sky and bit his lip. There, shinning through two wispy clouds, was the moon, bright and glorious. Harry stared at it hungrily, nearly pressing his nose against the glass in his need to see it more clearly.

Not many nights ago, Harry thought he'd never see it again, thought he'd never taste free air against his tongue, thought he'd never be able to support his own weight before he succumbed to his injuries. There wasn't much left inside of his dead heart, but even he could appreciate the simple beauty of the moonlight reflecting softly against his window. His hopeless chest fluttered with the tiniest bit of hope that maybe...just maybe...Harry Potter could be Harry Potter once more.

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 **Thanks for reading! ~Charlie**


	2. Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

**Content Warning: Nothing about this story is rated less than M, this chapter included. This story flirts with some very dark themes and is generally not suitable for younger audiences. If detailed violence of any kind, explicit language, or sexual content offends you, do us both a favor and find something else to read. Thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jk Rowling owns everything.**

 **Author's Note: Hey, guys! I want to say thanks a ton for the response on the first chapter. Support is the best inspiration! I just want to say that I my plan is to update this story every Monday. I think a week is more than enough time to write, edit, and revise each chapter, so look forward to that. Alright, without further ado, here is chapter 2:**

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Chapter 2: Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

The weeks passed slowly in the hospital while Harry physically recovered. They were filled with deafening silences until a mediwitch or a healer would turn up and break them. Harry never spoke, not to any of them. It was lucky if anyone managed to grasp an empty glance from those emerald eyes before they were gone, flickering back to the empty chair in the corner. It may have been a Friday when Dumbledore returned - Harry wasn't sure - but he brought the first news to finally grasp his interest.

"You'll be leaving on Monday, Harry," Dumbledore murmured, sitting in the very chair that had encompassed Harry's attention for the past few weeks.

Harry's eyes now met Dumbledore's and held them. They asked everything Harry wasn't willing to.

"You'll be going back to the Dursley's, of course," he said softly, correctly interpreting his expression. Harry's stomach lurched and he turned suddenly away. Staring at the small bedside table with nothing but an old clock and an oil lamp resting upon it, Harry couldn't help but feel thwarted. Why couldn't he stay with Sirius? After everything that had happened, he was to go back to those monsters? He was tempted to speak, but his mouth grew very dry, and a distant ache in his jaw had any thought of using his voice flying from his mind in an instant.

"It's where you will be safest, especially now with the Minister dead and Voldemort very much at large."

Harry looked up again. Fudge was dead? A newspaper landed on his bed in front of him and Dumbledore looked pointedly at it. With shaking hands, Harry picked the paper off the bed and read.

"MINISTER OF MAGIC DEAD. YOU-KNOW-WHO TO BLAME" read the headline from several weeks ago. Beneath the headline, a large picture of Cornelius Fudge was looking serenely at the camera, moving only to blink or to scratch his nose. Harry began to scan the small text next to the picture, his eyes widening.

 _Tragic events occurred at the Ministry not twenty four hours ago. Last night, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic was murdered by none other than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Several Ministry officials had indeed seen the Dark Lord at the Ministry of Magic, standing over the Minister's lifeless body. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and former beater for the Wimbourne Wasps, retells his account of what happened exclusively for the Daily Prophet. Turn to page 6 for more details._

Harry flipped through the pages with fumbling fingers, eager to discover the rest of the story.

 _The Wizarding World's worst fear has been realized last night when the Minister of Magic was found murdered and You-Know-Who was spotted at the scene of the crime. Ludo Bagman shares his account below._

 _"I saw him! Right there!" said Bagman, pointing near the lifts in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, late last night. Bagman goes on, "You-Know-Who was just standing there, right out in the open. He was strange looking too. All bald and no nose and red, snake-like eyes. It was terrifying. Did he always look like that? Anyway, he shifted to the side and I saw Fudge lying on the ground by his feet. Then he just laughed and disapparated. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was too horrible."_

 _A chilling tail by Bagman. Several others have recounted similar testimonies, as well. But no one had seen the actual murder take place, nor does anyone seem to know what exactly transpired before the Ministry officials began to arrive in the Atrium, well past the time of action. Each member of high standing within the Ministry received an owl from the Ministry itself carrying a mysterious note that informed them of Fudge's murder. The note contained no signature, but it has been assumed by many that it came from You-Know-Who himself. Moments after the note was delivered, each official arrived inside the Atrium and saw You-Know-Who unquestionably._

 _The death of Fudge and sighting of the Dark Lord fourteen years after his apparent defeat are, of course, very controversial. Harry Potter had claimed last year that he had indeed come face to face with You-Know-Who following the secret happenings of the last event in the Triwizard Tournament. The Minister had shunted any possibility of this being truth, regardless of the fact that Albus Dumbledore had stood by Potter's claim from the beginning. Fudge had Dumbledore removed from Hogwarts months ago and instated Dolores Umbridge as Headmistress. The very same day, Fudge had allegedly given Umbridge direct permission to detain and torture the fifteen year old Potter for information. The death of Fudge has set various events into motion, the first being that Dumbledore is no longer a wanted fugitive for training an army of youngsters and has been reinstated as headmaster at Hogwarts. The second is the fact that Harry Potter was rescued from Dolores Umbridge's clutches hours after Fudge's death by Dumbledore. The third was that Umbridge was taken in for holding until her trial rumored to be held six months from now. It is assumed by many that Harry Potter will give his full testimony of what transpired with Umbridge at Hogwarts._

Harry's lip twitched; fat chance of that.

Harry tossed the paper back to the end of his bed and stared at his feet, hidden by his blankets. An odd twisting sensation was churning inside his stomach. It was finally out. The truth had finally emerged. He and Dumbledore were telling the truth and now everyone believed them. He dropped his face into his hands and took several harsh breaths in. If Fudge had just believed him in the first place...none of it would have happened.

Dumbledore began to speak of Harry's departure from St. Mungo's on Monday, but Harry heard little of what he was actually saying. A hollow ringing was piercing his ear drums while he fought against the terrible memories all over again.

He saw a flash of his cell, a thin, womanly figure, cold blue eyes, a blade. Harry jumped and Dumbledore ceased speaking, looking taken aback at Harry's now trembling form.

"Are you in pain?" he asked suddenly, looking concerned.

Harry clenched his jaw in complete frustration, but gave no indication of an answer. The memories were still burning against his eyes. Dumbledore sighed and stood. Harry felt an urge to make a grab for him, to beg silently for Dumbledore to stay. He couldn't be left alone with his thoughts.

"I'll retrieve the mediwitch to assist you. I'll be here early on Monday to bring you to your aunt and uncle's. Farewell, Harry."

Panic had him rooted to the spot. He watched Dumbledore open the door and walk from it, staring dejectedly after him. With Dumbledore gone, Harry had nothing to distract him from the memory pulling on his consciousness.

 _The first thing Harry was aware of was the blinding, searing pain in his jaw and chest. His wrists were bound together in front of him and he was lying at an awkward angle on the hard ground. Breathing was difficult; his mouth and nose didn't seem to want to work properly, no matter how hard he pulled at the air. Then he heard the voices._

 _"Yes...I don't think I'll be trying this one again in a hurry. Who knew such a small device could cause so much ruin on a body?" It was Umbridge. Her voice came from somewhere above him._

 _A shadow blocked the light behind his eyelids. "Oh, wow." Another female voice came from closer to him; it was vaguely familiar but he couldn't place it. "Yes, it certainly has done a number on his jaw, hasn't it?" said the voice. He felt hands near his wounds and he flinched._

 _"Awake, is he?" came Umbridge's voice. "Take his glasses. He won't be needing those any longer."_

 _Cool fingers pulled his glasses from his face. His eyes opened in response and stared into the slightly blurred face of Pansy Parkinson. His forehead creased and his mind tried to make sense of her sluggishly._

 _"And how long have you been practicing healing charms?" Umbridge asked. Harry could see the shape of her standing to Pansy's right, her stubby arms crossed around her chest. Harry coughed blood from between his teeth._

 _"About three years. I should be able to fix him up so you can continue your fun." Pansy grinned up at Umbridge, then down at Harry. It made him feel very cold._

 _"Excellent. Get him back to his cell. I have many others I need to see today. Filch! Clean up the mess the Potter boy left." Umbridge pointed to the puddle of blood in front of the shackles Harry had been hung from not long before. Filch, already holding a mop, begrudgingly walked forward and did as he was told._

 _"Mobilicorpus!" Pansy muttered, pointing her wand at Harry. He began to levitate, his head still spoked upon the Heretic's Fork. Pansy lead him out of the torture room and into the dark hall outside. The trip back to his cell seemed to take double the time it had before with the agony of his injuries dragging on. Many times he'd almost lost consciousness when the pain flared to an intolerable amount._

 _Finally, they reached his cell and Pansy dropped him roughly to the hard stone below. He groaned, arching his back to prevent the fork from sliding farther in._

 _Pansy shut and locked the door behind them and turned with a grin that looked very similar to Umbridge's. "Shall we begin then?"_

 _Pansy knelt by his head, grabbed his hair, and wrenched his head back. The prongs tore out of his flesh and Harry screamed, finally able to extend his jaw once more. Blood was pouring down his neck as Pansy reached back to untie the leather that fastened the device to his neck. Then, with a hard yank on the metal, extracted the bottom prongs from his collarbone. Harry could do little more than moan in anguish._

 _She dropped the fork onto the stone with a loud clang and said in a cooing voice, "That's better." Her fingers pressed into the holes beneath his chin and Harry jerked away from her touch._

 _She laughed. "That's not how this works, Harry. I can touch you wherever I want." Her fingers caressed his cheek. "And I can hurt you as much as I want."_

 _Pansy pulled a blade from the pocket of her robes and flashed it at him. The metal seemed to be coated with a dark purple substance. She made a move to jab him with it and he gasped and flinched._

 _She laughed excitedly and stared down at him with cold, blue eyes. He saw her raise the knife again, saw it come down to his abdomen, but it didn't stop this time. It pierced through his skin, shredded his organs. And he screamed, louder than he'd ever screamed in his life. Pansy laughed, her fingers pressing into the wound in his chin a second time, making that pain rival the one in his stomach._

 _There was little else to feel, little else to comprehend other than the agony and the lights fading slowly from his eyes._

 _"Wonderful, isn't it...my knife?" Pansy giggled, "It's infused with a paralysis poison. Let's me do whatever I please with my victims until they bleed out."_

 _Harry certainly was paralysed. Try as he may to struggle away from her, his arms and legs simply would not respond. He could only breathe and stare, horrified, into her ice blue eyes._

 _"However, my father taught me the importance of healing as well as hurting. He said that it was the best way to torture: to cripple and to heal. And look how it's helped me. I'm your healer now, Harry, and I can do whatever I please to you. You're all alone. No Dumbledore to come and rescue you now, is there?"_

 _Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe as deeply as possible through the pain._

 _Pansy laughed again. She tipped a vile back into his mouth; he tried to cough it up, but his paralysis made that impossible. The liquid slid down his throat and settled into his stomach. Moments later, his fingers and toes began to tingle. The feeling moved up his body slowly until he could move freely once again. He noticed with surprise that each of his wounds had been reduced to painful and swollen scabs. Staring up at her cautiously, he didn't dare speak or move. Blood still soaked the torso and neck of his robes, still coated his skin, and it was then that it struck him how much of it he had lost. Weak and shaking, he felt his heart fluttering feebly inside his chest. His own mortality thumped in his ears like a drum._

 _Pansy stood. Still holding the knife in her hands, she wiped the blood off with a handkerchief. "That was just a taste of what's to come. Don't think you'll have any peace of mind when Umbridge is finished with you." Pansy gave him a sharp look and he stared back at her, terrified and frantic. She left the cell, closing the door behind her._

 _His world had been flipped upside down in just a matter of hours. Clutching his stomach, he pushed himself weakly into a corner of his cell. Staring desperately at the walls, Harry cried. He wept for the pain he'd already endured, for the pain he knew was sure to come. He wept for his friends who he feared would receive similar treatment to his. But he mostly wept for the building, panic-enducing hopelessness rising in the pit of his chest. It was hard to be positive when he was covered in his own blood, waiting for maniacal people to come back and torture him more. But then, out of the darkness, he heard an all too familiar voice whispering his name._

"Harry."

He opened his eyes. Hermione Granger was staring back at him. It hadn't yet registered that he was in St. Mungo's, nor that Umbridge was behind bars, nor that Pansy was no where near him. He only saw Hermione, glowing with health.

"Hermione?" he choaked, stunned.

She smiled and touched his cheek. It felt warm and safe. "I had to sneak away to see you."

"Why?" he demanded.

"Because...you're not allowed visitors," she said a little apprehensively.

Harry's brow furrowed and he said, "But Dumbledore's been in here pestering me for the past few weeks."

"I expect he doesn't count. He's Dumbledore after all." Hermione sat next to him on the bed and Harry scooted closer, pressing his leg against hers almost involuntarily. She sighed, as if relieved. It was so wonderful, so incredible that he was sitting next to her again, both of them alive. "He's been in to see me, as well, and I'm not allowed visitors either," she added.

"Why?" he asked again, surprised.

She blushed and looked down at her hands. "Well...I've been acting up."

He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." she hesitated, then looked at him beneath her eyelashes. A moment later she was speaking very quickly under her breath. Harry had to lean closer to catch her words. "I haven't been eating because I've been afraid it's poisoned." She gave him a pale look and he understood at once why she was afraid of that. Nodding, he encouraged her to continue. "They told me that if I don't start eating they'll think I'll have developed some sort of disorder."

Harry looked sharply at her. They had told him these things as well. If he didn't start talking they were going to assume he had developed selective mutism. Selective mutism...he wasn't even entirely sure what that was. "What disorder?"

"An...an eating disorder," Hermione muttered.

Harry stared at her. He had a sudden image of Aunt Petunia watching a documentary of a girl with anorexia who had gotten herself so thin, she nearly died.

"You don't have that do you?" He asked.

She shook her head. "I'm not trying to lose weight or anything. I just get so nervous whenever they tell me to eat. Logically, I know that nothing is in the food...but I can't make myself eat it, Harry."

He ducked his head. "I suppose I should tell you...I haven't spoken in weeks."

Her eyes widened at him in alarm. "To anyone?"

He shook his head slowly, staring very deeply into her eyes.

"Why not?" she asked, her hand resting on his knee.

He stared at it and whispered, "I just can't. Every time I even think about it I feel panicked...and nervous...my mouth gets all dry."

"But you're talking to me," she said quietly.

He smiled slightly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I've always been able to talk to you."

"Oh, Harry," she gasped before pulling him into a very gentle hug. He felt the ghost of a blush creeping upon his cheeks, but he hugged her back and enjoyed the embrace. "I've missed you so much, Harry," she murmured.

Harry could only nod. He'd forgotten how much he missed her voice, her face, even the smell of her hair. Burying his face in it, he inhaled through his nose, revelling in it's familiarity.

"They're sending me back to the Dursleys'," Harry whispered miserably.

Hermione pulled back to stare at him with wide eyes, "They can't possibly! Why can't you live with Sirius?"

Harry never had a chance to answer. The door to his room opened and a mediwitch strolled inside, then froze, staring at the two of them, holding each other like their lives depended on it. Her eyes traveled over the pair of them, noticed the way Harry had clung to her before they broke apart. Harry's heart was beating very fast. He glanced nervously at Hermione who looked very tense.

"There you are," said the witch, eyes wide, "We've been looking all over for you." Her voice was severe but her eyes remained oddly soft. "Come on, Miss Granger, back to your bed." The mediwitch's eyes kept glancing at Harry repeatedly, watching the way his eyes followed Hermione's retreating form. The mediwitch turned to Harry then, "I'll be back once I've brought our escapist to her bed."

Harry and Hermione both stiffened and shared terrified glances. Then with a deep breath Hermione whispered, "I'll see you soon, Harry. Promise."

Harry glanced at the mediwitch who was watching their exchange intently. His eyes then locked on to Hermione's and he nodded once. She gave him a small, broken smile before turning and leaving the room. The mediwitch had looked flabbergasted by his acknowledgement of Hermione. She hadn't seen him even register another human's presence for the entire three weeks he'd been in the hospital. Still deep in thought, she turned on her heal and followed Hermione out of the door.

The door snapped shut with a click and Harry felt his solidarity like never before in this hospital. Images of Hermione kept flashing through his head. Some were very painful, some were pleasant, but all were nagging him closer and closer to the all too familiar pit of his memories.

 _The days following the first in the dungeons were nearly just as horrible. Umbridge had not used the Heretic's Fork on him since, but instead used the Cruciatis Curse more than enough times to compensate. Since no physical damage had been done to Harry he had not seen Pansy at all after the first day. Harry had been fed only a small loaf of a bread late every afternoon and a goblet of water once in the morning and another with his meal. Filch had delivered it to him with awkward glances and a thin lipped smile. It was strange to see Filch so polite. Several days in, however, Umbridge seemed ready to try a new form of torture and it was much, much worse than anything she had done to him before._

 _Filch threw Harry into the huge, cavernous hall filled with devices too terrible to look at, Umbridge standing in the center. She grinned down at him, her arms crossed behind her large, pink cardigan-clad waist._

 _"Hello, Mr. Potter," she murmured, "Today we're going to be doing something a little different. You get to sit out on the torture. How does that sound?"_

 _There was something fishy about her tone, her expression, and Harry knew immediately that something very terrible was going to happen soon. Umbridge merely smiled pleasantly at him as she waited for his answer, though her eyes were calculating._

 _"Well? Do you want to be tortured or not?" she asked._

 _Harry shook his head cautiously. He knew she was baiting him yet again but he had no idea of what could possibly be in store for him if she wasn't going to torture him. He received his answer quickly enough when Umbridge smiled and waved her hand at Filch. Filch left the room and did not return for several moments. When he did, Harry nearly collapsed to his knees. Hermione was shoved roughly into the room. There was no mistaking her bushy, brown hair even without the help of his glasses. She looked around herself nervously, saw Harry, and sobbed aloud. Clasping her hands to her face, she whispered his name in obvious relief._

 _Harry knew at once what Umbridge's plan was. He turned to her, his pulse throbbing in his ears. "No. NO!" Umbridge smiled that evil smile and Harry's head felt suddenly light. He tried again; he couldn't let it happen, couldn't let her do this. "Do whatever you want to me. Just don't do this," he begged._

 _Umbridge was not moved. If anything, his plea only made her more eager. "You've not responded to any other method. You give me no other choice."_

 _Hermione didn't take her eyes off Harry, so when he turned to look at her again, he could see the panic burning in her eyes. He tried to tell her with his own how incredibly sorry he was...though sorry could never repay her for this._

 _"Bring the girl here," Umbridge said._

 _"If you touch her, I'll-"_

 _"What, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge sneered, "Take a good, hard look at yourself and see where you are...where your actions have lead you. You are in no position for threats."_

 _Harry swallowed. As much as he hated everything about her, he knew her last statement was true. This didn't quench his panic, but exacerbate it. He saw no way to help, no way to stop this from happening. He barely registered being pulled to the wall, being hung by his wrists by the same shackles as before. He only knew the debilitating guilt flaring in his stomach._

 _Umbridge pushed Hermione to the ground, pointing her wand at her back. Harry was gasping for air through the hysteria. How could he stop this? How could he stop this?_

 _"She walks away if you answer my questions," said Umbridge._

 _It was dreadful enough to endure his own pain to hide his secrets, but to endure his best friend's pain was another matter entirely. Hermione looked at him, shook her head, and pressed her lips into a fine line. Harry stared back at her, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he flipped between keeping up the fight and surrendering. It would go against everything Harry believed in, every moral he had built in his mind to spill his secrets. He had always been so sure that if anyone had tortured him, he would never tell them anything. But, had he ever thought about whether he'd be able to withstand if Ron or Hermione was in his place?_

 _It was worse to him, that it was Hermione, for a reason he couldn't understand. He assumed it was because Hermione was so fragile. He knew how much she froze up in tense situations. It was true that she had gotten quicker, true that she had gotten stronger, but she was always so sensitive. What would torture do to her? Harry had barely been able to withstand the Cruciatis Curse, himself. He thought of the Longbottoms, Neville's parents, and his heart beat even faster against his ribs. Would that be Harry and Hermione's fate? Desperately, he prayed not._

 _"Your girlfriend is never going to forgive you if you let me torture her," Umbridge said sweetly._

 _"She's not my girlfriend," Harry gritted between clenched teeth. Would it be enough to save her if Umbridge believed him?_

 _"How harsh, Harry," Umbridge said, feigning surprise, "Imagine how much those words must have hurt her in her moment of deepest need." Harry's glare became murderous. "Without further ado," she said, "I only request one piece of information for her to walk away. One I am absolutely positive you will be able to give me."_

 _Harry tried desperately not to lose his head. This was the time where he must make his choice. From the look on Hermione's face, it was clear she wanted him to keep quiet. But could he do it to her? Could he standby and watch as this treacherous woman tortured his best friend, being the only one who had her ticket to safety?_

 _"Did you or did you not see You-Know-Who durning the last event in the Triwizard Tournament?" Umbridge said, her eyes fixed triumphantly upon Harry's calculating expression. He knew what answer she wanted, of course. How wonderful would it be to report to the Minister that she had gotten him to admit to the lies they had accused him of in the first place? To actually recant his sighting of Voldemort would be to recant himself. But, Hermione..._

 _"You have three seconds."_

 _Sweat beaded across his face as Umbridge's hand tightened around her wand._

 _"Two."_

 _Hermione screwed up her face in preparation. Harry's heart thundered against his breastbone._

 _"One."_

 _It was now or never._

 _Umbridge opened her mouth to recite the incantation that would debilitate his best friend. But it was his own voice he heard echoing off the stone walls._

 _"No!" he yelled. Umbridge paused and looked at him expectantly. "No, I didn't see him." The words burned against his throat, felt wrong and dirty. He felt defeated in a way he'd never known. At least when she had tortured him before, he'd still had his sense of self. He'd let that go for Hermione's wellbeing. Was it worth it? He stared at Hermione's chocolate eyes, her awestruck expression, and he knew: Yes. Yes, it was worth it. She had always been worth it._

 _Umbridge puffed her chest and swelled in her victory; Harry hung his head in shame. She was going to keep taking and taking and taking from him until there was nothing left. His eyes traced the stone beneath him as his fate became ever clearer. He was breaking now...how long would it take before he had crumbled to pieces?_

 _"Doesn't that feel better now, Harry? You told the truth and saved your girlfriend all in one stroke. You must be very proud. How about we share the pride, hm?" Umbridge glaced hungrily down at Hermione. Harry's eyes widened. She wouldn't...not after he'd given the answer she wanted._

 _"How about we give Miss Granger a chance to save you, hm?" Umbridge cooed, walking closer to Harry. Hermione shuddered behind her while she knelt, bound by the wrists, on the ground._

 _"Our bargain!" Harry barked, thrashing threateningly against his chains. The only reply Umbridge gave was a chuckle. It was then that it dawned on him. There was nothing he could say, or do, or try to get out of this. No good could ever come from him speaking and he decided then and there he'd never speak again, not to anyone. His stomach twisted in protest but he shoved the feeling aside. Harry had been meddling for as long as he could remember and he was done. This time he meant it. Locked in this nightmarish hell, it was simply the only way to regain control, to keep the rapidly disintegrating pieces of self in his grasp for as long as possible before it was gone. Harry would never surrender another word._

 _"Miss Granger, the same rules apply to you, only you'll receive a new question."_

 _Hermione quivered in response._

 _"Where is Mr. Weasley?" Umbridge pressed the tip of her wand into Harry's cheek._

 _Hermione's mouth fell open. "What do you mean?"_

 _Umbridge gave an exasperated sigh, "Where is Mr. Ronald Weasley hiding?"_

 _Hermione looked at Harry who stared back with an expression of pure befuddlement. Ron was missing?_

 _"Six wanted Gryffindors have gone into hiding. I want you to give me their whereabouts." Umbridge barked, quickly becoming impatient._

 _She shook her head, "I don't know."_

"Crucio."

 _Harry smacked his head so hard against the stone behind him when Umbridge's curse bore down upon him that he felt a trickle of liquid slithering down his neck to run in warm streaks down his back. Harry tried to keep very quiet for Hermione's sake but it was very difficult. Each breath he took ached to be a moan. Each breath he exhaled ached to be a scream. Somehow, he managed to remain entirely still before Umbridge finally relented. Harry gasped, his wrists bleeding from the shackles on which he hung. Hermione stared at him, her eyes filled with tears. He couldn't look her back in the eye._

 _"Don't lie to me, you mudblood! Don't think I don't know where you were headed when I caught you." Umbridge snarled, her teeth bared._

 _With conflicted eyes, Hermione looked back and forth between Umbridge and Harry, the tears finally spilling past her bottom lashes. She shook her head, a deep frown settled on her face._

 _"No?" asked Umbridge, her face alight with humor. She turned to Harry a wide smile stretching her face. "Seems she chooses Mr. Weasley over you, Harry. How that must hurt."_

 _Was their pain a game to her? Was she having fun? Sick and nauseated, Harry supposed yes._

"Crucio."

 _Harry writhed, small whimpers escaping with his gasps as the curse broke him down. He shouldn't listen to what Umbridge said, it shouldn't even bother him. But, why did his heart burn at the thought of Hermione choosing Ron? It hurt through the pain of the Cruciatus Curse, dead center in his chest, like an unquenchable fire. It didn't make sense to him and it didn't fade when the curse was lifted. He shouldn't care...it was good she was saving Ron and the other missing Gryffindors. With a strength he could hardly fathom, Harry wished that she had gotten away with his fugitive classmates._

 _To Harry's left, the large doors to the hall opened and Pansy Parkinson strolled inside. Harry flinched away from the sight of her. No good thing could bring her here._

 _"Excellent," Umbridge murmured, "Over here, Miss Parkinson."_

 _Hermione looked at her with confused loathing. With a start, Harry realized she didn't know half of what Pansy was capable of._

 _Pansy walked past Hermione without a second glance and straight to Harry. She stared menacingly at him. Harry swallowed._

 _"I'll need you ready over there." Umbridge pointed at a spot a few feet to Harry's right; Pansy went where she was told. Walking to the table piled with nasty looking tools, Umbridge picked a small, jagged knife off the table and moved to stand in front of Hermione._

 _"Do you want to see me gut the famous Harry Potter?" Umbridge inquired nonchalantly._

 _Hermione's eyes grew very large. "No," she whispered, shaking her head, "No, please."_

 _"Then tell me the whereabouts of your classmates."_

 _Hermione sobbed, "I can't...I can't."_

 _With several quick strides, Umbridge was in front of Harry, pressing the knife against his stomach. "You choose Mr. Weasley?"_

 _With tear stained cheeks, she stared at Harry's strained features, her chin quivering. Harry kept his eyes on the knife trained on his stomach, body trembling._

 _"No," Hermione whispered, "No. No."_

 _"Tell me where they are."_

 _"No...no."_

 _The blade raised, the tip swiveled to face his torso, and, as if in slow motion, shredded the material of his robes, pressed into his skin, slicing past the many layers of his flesh until only the hilt was visible. Harry screamed; he couldn't help it. It brought him too close to death to retain control over his reactions. Umbridge left the blade inside him before turning back to Hermione. Through suffocating breaths, Harry glanced at her. Hermione's hands were covering her mouth and her eyes, wide with terror were fixed on the handle of the blade and growing blood stain on Harry's robes._

 _"Are you ready to speak now, Miss Granger?" Umbridge stared at her like a toad watches a fly. Hermione seemed unable to speak._

 _The headmistress grabbed the end of the blade and wrenched it upward, and a terrible, gurgling groan left Harry's throat. He stared unseeing at the ground, blood seeping out of his body with more speed than he thought possible. It even bubbled up his throat and leaked from the corner of his mouth._

 _"Okay!" Hermione cried, her voice cracking, "Okay."_

 _"Where are they?"_

 _"In the Forbidden Forest."_

 _"Where in the Forbidden Forest?"_

 _"I don't know." Hermione whispered desperately, and Umbridge's hand darted dangerously to the knife again. "Hagrid!" Hermione screamed, "Hagrid knows!" Her hands covered her mouth again as the realization of what she had done crashed upon her._

 _Umbridge yanked the knife from Harry's stomach and stared pointedly at Pansy, who stepped forward and tipped the same vile as before into his mouth._

 _The wounds scattered across his body shrank and closed to scabs. Umbridge cocked her head to the side._

 _"Interesting," she said, her spirits high._

 _"I like scars," Pansy smiled, touching the nearly healed wounds beneath Harry's chin. Harry was not holding up well. The bleeding had stopped, but he'd lost so much blood he hardly had enough energy to lift his head away from her touch._

 _"Bring them back to their cells," said Umbridge to Pansy, "I have business to attend to. Come, Filch!" Umbridge walked from the room, Filch begrudgingly on her heels._

 _Pansy, much to Harry and Hermione's surprise, thew them both in Harry's cell together. "I'll give you two a chance to catch up," she said. At their confused expressions, she added with a grin, "Don't worry, I'll be back to play with you both. I just can't miss the fun of seeing that oaf, Hagrid, in trouble." She slammed the door behind her._

 _Sheathed in darkness, Harry curled himself against the wall, holding his stomach in agony._

 _"Harry?" Hermione whispered, walking to his place and sitting by his side. Harry looked at her, his face bone white and distressed. She began to sob. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice quivering in the stifling silence._

 _Harry listened to her gasp breathlessly, biting his lips. Would he, could he extend his silence to her? No...after what he'd just given up for her, he couldn't possibly. Staring through the darkness into her eyes, Harry said with bitterness, "I didn't last three seconds. What do you have to be sorry for?"_

 _"I gave up our friends, Harry," Hermione whispered, broken._

 _Harry's heart tightened at her reminder. He stared at his hands, trying to think of a way to console her, but nothing came to him. He could only imagine the guilt that came from picking between your friends' safety._

 _"You shouldn't have picked me," Harry said suddenly. His voice was raspy, but the ferocity in it still shone through._

 _Hermione shuddered, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I couldn't take it anymore...she would have killed you."_

 _"No, she wouldn't have," Harry pulled his hand away from his stomach and showed her the angry, red scabs between the tears in his robes._

 _Hermione looked at it with thin lips, her nose wrinkling, eyes filling with another bout of tears. "That's so grotesque," she whimpered, placing a tender hand on his. She sobbed again, and said, "I'll never forgive myself."_

 _"Hermione," Harry grimaced through the pain, "You can't blame yourself."_

 _"How could I not, Harry?" Hermione snapped, "Our friends are going to be found and it's all because of me. Because I couldn't keep my fucking mouth shut!" Her hands were ripping at her hair and she was rocking herself with vigor._

 _Harry grabbed her arm. He'd never heard her swear, not in the extensive time he'd known her. "Hermione, Umbridge most likely would have found them anyway."_

 _Hermione yanked her arm from his touch. "No," she said grimly, "She wouldn't have. They were home free tomorrow."_

 _"What do you mean?" Harry asked, his hand moving back to grasp the shorn material above his wound. "Who were the six?"_

 _Hermione wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robes and took two great sniffs from her nostrils. More calmly than Harry expected her to be, she began to speak softly, "Last week when Dumbledore's Army was found out about, we waited for you in the common room - myself, Ron, Fred and George, Ginny, Neville, and Lee. We waited all night, but you never came back. It wasn't until sunrise before we knew for sure that something had happened to you. Then the Slytherins started spreading the rumors: that you were being tortured and we were next. Ron decided that there was nothing we could do as sitting ducks. We needed to get out and get help so we spent the entire day organizing with Hagrid how best to escape to the Burrow."_

 _"The Burrow?" Harry repeated._

 _"Yes, of course," she rolled her eyes as if this were obvious, "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were communicating back and forth with us by owl. We told them that you had gone missing and that we believed we were next. They agreed that we should get out of here as soon as possible. And to stay hidden in the meantime." Hermione ducked her head, "If I had listened, we'd all be safe."_

 _Harry's heart sunk and he heard himself say before he could stop himself, "And I'd be alone."_

 _Hermione blanched, "Harry, it wasn't like that..."_

 _"No, I'd prefer it that way anyway. I'd rather be alone if that meant you and the others were safe." He stared at the ground and continued to breathe carefully through the heat stinging his stomach. "So what was the plan anyway?"_

 _"Well, Hagrid was hiding us with Grawp, which is bad news if you ask me. Grawp's just not safe enough to be allowed around humans yet. Hagrid's been having a tough time with him, too. In any case, I suppose Grawp was preferable to this..." Hermione waved her hand around the cell before continuing, "But we arranged a portkey to the Burrow and it was set to leave tomorrow morning. And now, because of me..." Hermione broke off into sobs of anguish. Harry wasn't sure what made him do it, but he pulled Hermione almost roughly into a tight hug, crushing her against his ribs and hipbone, both his arms wrapped securely around her waste. It was unlike him to give such a demonstration of affection, but he needed it, craved the human contact with someone familiar. He felt her arms snake around his neck and realized she must feel the same._

 _"I wouldn't have done anything different for Ron," Harry said decidedly, letting his head fall into her hair. "You...both mean too much to me to be able to watch that." He was trying to comfort her with justifications, but Hermione would hear none of it._

 _"Please, Harry. I can't figure out if what I did was wrong or not...and I just don't want to think anymore. About anything."_

 _Harry fell silent, but ultimately agreed with her. He didn't want to make himself feel righteous when he actually felt used and broken. Hermione continued to quiver and shake through heart wrenching sobs. Harry held her the whole time, even when her arms fell slack around him and she succumbed to a restless sleep. He knew it would only be a matter of time before Pansy came back to terrorize them and he couldn't bear the thought of letting her go. All that had transpired left him feeling sick, but Hermione settled the feeling somehow. The rise and fall of her respiration lulled him into a tumultuous sleep; the last thing registering in his mind was Hermione's fingers clutching the material of his robes_ _._

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 **Thanks for reading! ~Charlie**


	3. Will It End?

**Content Warning: Nothing about this story is rated less than M, this chapter included. This story flirts with some very dark themes and is generally not suitable for younger audiences. If detailed violence of any kind, explicit language, or sexual content offends you, do us both a favor and find something else to read. Thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jk Rowling owns everything.**

 **Author's Note: Hey, everyone. Sorry for the delay! Life has a way of creeping up on you and making you very busy. Anyway, without further ado, I hope you enjoy it.**

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Chapter 3: Will It End?

Harry stared vaguely at the busy London streets beneath St. Mungo's early Monday morning. Professor Dumbledore was speaking quietly to a young mediwitch sitting behind an oak desk. Whatever he told her made her glance over at Harry with even more interest than before. Harry pulled the hood of his Muggle sweatshirt over his head almost without realizing. His shoulders stiffened and his chin dipped towards his neck, his eyes now leaving the pavement below to find instead strange patterns in the wooden floor beneath his feet. A sense of foreboding had been filling him whenever he remembered he'd be seeing his relatives in just a short amount of time. _It may be for the best_ , thought Harry, _after all, I don't really want to be around anyone right now._ An image of Hermione fitted itself in his mind's eye. He pushed it away with little effort, not willing to delve into that aspect of his thoughts.

"Let us be off then," Dumbledore said, smiling behind his long, silver beard. Harry could see the familiar twinkle glinting off Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles and Harry looked away quickly. Mirth had no appeal to him any longer. They Disapparated - Harry clinging to Dumbledore's arm for dear life - from the foyer of St. Mungo's, arriving on the front steps of Number 4, Privet Drive. Harry glanced around, wondering whether anyone was around to witness their sudden appearance. There wasn't. Privet Drive was completely deserted, its perfectly trimmed hedges the only sign of movement in the stormy breeze.

Dumbledore knocked. Harry held his breath. He could hear shuffling movement and muffled voices, then immediate silence following the knock. Several thumping footsteps later, the door swung open and Uncle Vernon stood in the door way. His face was large, red, and surly as ever. The only difference from this Vernon and the one in Harry's memories were the greying hairs revealing the passage of time.

"You're late," Uncle Vernon barked, his eyes bulging dangerously in Dumbledore's direction. "I had a meeting at 7:00 o'clock," Uncle Vernon pulled back the sleeve of his shirt and looked at his watch, "It's 7:30! I've been forced to cancel! When a man tells me he'll be here at 6:30, I expect him to be!"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again, and he said, "Forgive me, my pocket watch must be behind."

Vernon turned a very nasty shade of violet, though he seemed to think better than to respond. Harry sighed, thinking only of being alone in Dudley's old bedroom. Dumbledore glaced sideways at Harry, read his expression, and said to Vernon, "Well, I'd best be off.

Harry stood in the entrance hall, Uncle Vernon glaring maliciously at him. Harry backed to the steps, intending to retreat...

"Oh, no, you don't, boy!" Uncle Vernon snarled, yanking Harry's arm. He staggered forward and righted himself, glancing nervously at his uncle's purpling face. A jolt of trepidation filled him under Uncle Vernon's contact.

"Into the kitchen." Mr. Dursley pointed his fat finger at the door at the end of the hall. Harry walked toward it, the back of his neck prickling while Uncle Vernon glared holes into it. Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen already, staring at the door when Harry entered, and appraised him like one would to a wounded animal. He bit back a grimace and stared at the ground, standing nervously by the kitchen table.

"So," Uncle Vernon said, clapping his hands together, his eyes narrowing to slits as they locked onto Harry's form, "I want to get a few things straight." With this, Petunia and he shared a glance before they were back staring at him like he was a nasty creature on display. "Don't think that just because you're supposedly not talking means that I'm going to take that as an excuse for you not to answer if I speak to you. I am the man of this house and you will respect me. Is that clear?"

Harry stared at him, his empty eyes sizing up the potential threat Uncle Vernon bore to him. He nodded once in his direction; he'd acknowledge him, but there was no chance of verbal communication whether Uncle Vernon realized this or not.

Harry disappeared upstairs once Mr. Dursley had finished informing him of his chores, which were mostly the same as every other year. He sat tentatively on the edge of the bed in Dudley's second bedroom - he'd never felt right about calling it his. Looking around himself, he kept his mind completely blank, only allowing himself to register items, not actual thoughts. It had worked to keep the memories from mutilating his mind during the last two days in the hospital. He hoped fervently that it would work now.

All of his school things had been delivered to his room, even Hedwig's cage, resting empty on his dresser. Harry wondered where she had been while he'd been in encaged and whether she would return to him. A faint ache in his sternum bothered him at the thought of Hedwig. He lay back on the bed, his head sinking into the pillow. His hands twisted into his hair, pulling, tugging at the strands while he fought to feel something...anything.

It was like someone had flipped a switch inside his brain, disconnecting all emotions other than fear, sadness, and anger. Everything else seemed to be on hiatus. Harry couldn't imagine that this was a way to live. He wondered, with a constriction in his chest, if this would last until he died?

 _It would be better to be dead,_ Harry thought. He felt...lighter as he began to ponder death, its sweet, promising end. _It would be too much of a waste to die,_ Harry countered. All that he had survived would be diminished by a razor blade and a note. _No note,_ he thought, _no need_.

 _Not even to her?_

 _Stop it!_ he berated himself, _Stop thinking about Hermione like that._

Instead of responding, his mind showed him a memory. Though the setting was painful, it was a memory he recalled, not a flashback that consumed him.

Harry had been curled into the corner of his cell, Hermione sitting close beside him. She had been shivering but there was little Harry could do to help her. Not only had he been trembling himself, he was broken everywhere. A leg, an arm, many, many ribs, his nose, a collarbone, a hip...what _wasn't_ broken? The two had been silent, both thinking of the terrors in their recent past until Hermione looked suddenly at him.

"We've been in here about three months, I expect," she'd said.

Harry was unsure of how to respond, his stomach dropping in response to her statement.

"And...well, I think I had better tell you before it's too late. Before I miss my chance." Hermione had been playing with her fingers, her eyes never quite meeting his through furtive glances.

"Tell me what?" Harry had gasped through the searing agony stealing his attention.

She bit her lip. Finally, after several painful breaths, she whispered, "That I fancied you once."

It didn't register, not completely. There was too much captivating his mind to fully comprehend her words. Harry looked at her, his blurred vision seeming even farther from focus than usual. "You what?" he whispered.

"I fancied you...in third year."

He shook his head, though his heart felt suddenly light. "Why are you telling me this?"

Hermione stared at him with wide eyes, "Because I don't know how much longer we have."

As if to prove her point, he cried out when he shifted slightly. Shaking, he captured her eyes and shook his head a second time.

"Don't think like that," Harry whispered, "We'll make it out of this. I promise."

She looked dubiously at him but seemed to think better than to respond. Instead, she did something so profound he thought he may have been under a Confundus Charm to believe that it actually happened.

Hermione leaned toward him, her eyes wide and feral - the look of an animal in a lengthy captivity - and pressed her lips against his. Harry didn't move. Several things had him rooted to the spot. The first was that he was terrified to shift his shattered bones any more. The second being that he wanted nothing less than to push Hermione away when she clearly needed him. And the third was a deep seated need flaring behind the pain and discomfort that craved her kiss. It was that part that baffled him.

When he emerged from the memory, staring forlorn at the patterned sheets beneath him, his heart ached with longing. He'd give anything, anything at all, to be with her. But he had nothing to offer, no life to give. Harry felt like nothing more than a tortured soul stuck inside of an malfunctioning and scarred body. How could he ever justify being with anyone?

Days passed. No sign of Hedwig - or any owls - had Harry increasingly on edge. His aunt and uncle mostly stayed clear of him. He did his chores and they pretended they didn't see his scars, or his limp, or the empty expression clouding his otherwise brilliant eyes. Even Dudley seemed to be avoiding him. It was bliss and turmoil, as he battled between loving solitude and hating loneliness. The flashbacks continued to follow him, sometimes happening three or four times a day. Since he'd arrived, he'd always had the same one: Pansy laughing above him as she shoved that goddamned blade into his flesh, hilt deep over and over. It ended with the same maniacal laugh and promise of his eminent worthlessness. He always came to with a layer of sweat beading his forehead and felt, if possible, more hopeless than he had before.

As the time progressed, he couldn't help but notice his impending birthday approaching rapidly. A lethargy settled into Harry during the past few days. No matter how much he slept, it was never enough. Mr. Dursley took instant notice of this. Harry's chores were left largely undone or half completed. When he snuck downstairs the morning before his birthday, it was with the intention of quietly grabbing a glass of water and a snack. Uncle Vernon spotted him and yanked on his arm.

"Why are none of your chores done, boy?" he snarled, his moustache twitching with anger.

Harry shook him off and looked away, slouching toward the cabinet to grab a glass.

"I asked you a question!" Vernon roared, his fury mounting.

Harry glanced back at him, a twinge of annoyance tickling his tongue. His silence only made Vernon all the more angry. Seizing Harry's arm in a tighter hold than the last, he glared very intently into Harry's blank emerald eyes.

"Now you listen here, boy," he hissed, "You're going to start talking and you're going to start now. Is that clear?"

Harry stared at him, emotionless.

"I will give you one more chance. Is. That. Clear?" he said, voice low and dangerous.

Harry knew he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, but he didn't speak. Compared to Umbridge, Vernon seemed pleasant.

As if in response to Harry's thoughts, Mr. Dursley hit him hard round the cheek. Harry's head snapped to the side, face tingling from impact, neck aching from the sudden movement.

"Still remaining silent now?" Uncle Vernon asked with a sneer.

Harry felt the sting on his cheek and his heart was pounding very suddenly. An image of his dark cell bounced inside his mind, making him feel nauseous. Uncle Vernon's palm connected with Harry's face again. His memories roared inside his ears and Harry panicked. He needed to escape. He needed to escape...

Vernon hit him a third time, and Harry fell to the floor from the force. Blinding white anger, panic, and desperation flared inside his chest. Uncle Vernon, grabbed him by the hair and wrenched him to the sink where several days worth of dishes waited for him.

"Are you going to do your chores?" Vernon hissed, his fat fingers tightening in his hands.

Harry, trembling, squinted through a pinprick of vision at his furious uncle while Umbridge's face grinned down at him, covered in his blood. He nodded vigorously, his lips pressing into a tight line, his forehead scrunching, all in an effort to remain conscious and away from the terrible thoughts banging against the haphazardly structured walls of his mind. Vernon freed his hair and Harry fell to his knees, his eyes staring unseeing at the tile beneath his trembling body.

"Get on with it then." Mr. Dursley gave a sharp kick to Harry's side and strode off. Still very thin and week from his months of horror, his ribs cracked beneath the force and weight of Uncle Vernon's wide foot. Harry pulled in a sharp gasp, clutching at his side, head feeling dizzy from the all too familiar pain. He stood on shaking legs to stare at the caked on food lingering on the surface of a numerous pile of kitchen wear. Harry turned on the tap with his left hand, keeping his right closely stuck to the pulsing ache of his broken ribs. More used to pain than anyone ever should be, he set to work with gritted teeth.

...

Harry's fingers resembled raisins and he stared at the wrinkles striping the pads. His ribs ached but he found a morbid comfort in the pain. It was, at least, very distracting. Harry curled into the fetal position, his bad leg wrapped gingerly above the other and his right arm pressed tightly against his side. He rested his head against the plaster of the wall.

What did he have to live for anymore?

Freedom from his imprisonment had come so abruptly that he had no time to wonder what things he missed or what he'd do if he ever survived. Those three months in the dungeons were spent dwelling on wild escape plans and the well being of his childhood best friend. Now, freed from his captivity, apart from Hermione, he had nothing but his horrific and tragic past to dwell on. Harry didn't think about flying anymore. He didn't think about school or his classes. He didn't think about his friends. He didn't even think about the growing threat Voldemort was posing to the Wizarding world. Harry was consumed by a darkness he could never have imagined before spring of this year. It was drowning him.

 _I just want to be dead,_ he thought to himself over and over, his fingers clutching and releasing the fabric of his jeans. He couldn't take it...not anymore. Harry felt like he was the only passenger on a sinking ship, the air inside slowly being replaced with freezing, ocean water. He couldn't live with the memories. He couldn't live with the Dursleys. More importantly, he couldn't live with himself.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, allowing himself to be pulled back into his memories, too exhausted to keep staving them off.

 _"Mr. Potter, I have wonderful news. Fudge signed the papers this morning. I have full rights to govern Hogwarts however I see fit and have been given full permission to yank those wonderful answers from you and your friends' heads. With any means necessary."_

 _A cold tickle shivered down Harry's spine. How much worse could this woman get?_

"Diffindo!" _Umbridge cried, her wand pointing squarely at Harry's chest. His robes fell into pieces around him and he was left only in his boxers and an undershirt. Shivering from both cold and terror, Harry stared up at Umbridge in alarm. She glared back, her lips set into a fine, and said,_ _"You're a prisoner now. Clothing is a privilege. They also get in the way with the things I have planned."_ _She grabbed him by the hair and dragged him towards a fire burning brightly inside of an ancient looking chimney. Several metal pokers stuck out of the flames at odd angles. Harry stared at the iron with increasing nervousness. His hands - as usual when he was in this room - were tied around his back with a spell. "You're a prisoner now. Clothing is a privilege. They also get in the way with the things I have planned."_

"Finite Incantatem," _Umbridge murmured at Harry._

 _His arms fell to the floor, freed from the bindings. He stared cautiously up at her...waiting for the blow._

 _"Your right arm, Harry." Umbridge's eyes were cold and unreadable. Her stubby hand was held open in front of her, waiting for him to obey. He did; his independent spirit crumbling more and more each day in these dungeons. Umbridge said another spell, one he was not familiar with. His hand was suddenly stuck in the air, no matter how hard he pulled on it. Umbridge grinned, her cold eyes making him feel very alone._

 _The suspense of his arm's fate seemed to last forever. He went through every possible scenario she could do to him and he panicked when he became quite sure she would chop it off. Umbridge had her back to him and she was staring into the fire. Harry tried to breathe deeply through his mounting fear._

 _"If there's one thing in this world that trumps my hatred of children, it's a troublemaker." Umbridge wrapped her fingers around one of the pokers sticking from the fire. "Most unfortunately for you, Mr. Potter, you are both those things. However, most fortunately for myself, I have decided to mark each and every one of you. That way every trouble maker in your generation will be known. I'll start with you, since you're their leader."_

 _Harry ground his teeth together. Umbridge pulled, not a poker from the fire, but a branding iron. On the end of it, a glowing white letter 'T' could be seen. Harry swallowed a bit of bile. It was better than losing his arm completely, though the reasonable logic did nothing to slow his rapidly beating heart._

 _"The 'T' stands for traitor. Fitting, I think. Don't you?" Umbridge smiled._

 _Harry's outstretched arm tingled with anticipation of the pain while the glowing end came closer and closer to his skin. It was an inch away. He held his breath and bit his lip. Sweat beaded against his temple._

 _Umbridge pressed the iron into his skin, and the first thing Harry registered was the horrible smell of burning flesh. Seconds after, the burning, searing pain shot up and down his arm and he screamed, the sound of his broken, seldom used voice cracking off the stone walls._

Harry snapped away from the memory, his eyes automatically locking onto the disfigured, pink skin on his right arm. The scar, shaped perfectly like a T, made his vision go red.

With a strange ringing in his ears, Harry stumbled into the hall and into the loo. His eyes narrowed on the figure staring back at him inside the mirror above the sink. The scar and the green eyes and the black hair were all there. But this was not Harry's face staring back at him. The childish fat plumping his cheeks was gone, replaced by two sharp cheekbones jutting from his skin. Dark, bruise like circles shadowed his eyes which stared - haunted, deadened - back at him. His nose, once straight, had been broken and healed incorrectly several times. Scars framed his cheeks, temples, and jaw. This was the face of a stranger.

His emerald eyes returned to the scar just above his wrist. It needed to be gone. He pulled Uncle Vernon's straightedge razor from its place near the tap. He stared at the edge of the blade for a moment of hesitation. Then Harry brought the blade down, slashing across his arm again and again until the pink, shiny skin disappeared behind a mess of blood and torn flesh.

It needed to be gone.

He didn't stop there, continuing to dig and slash at the brand, his head spinning in protest, the pain in his arm nearly blinding him. Finally, when his hands were covered in blood, the razor slipped from his loosening grip and into the sink. The porcelain below looked like something from a horror movie, splattered as it was in bright red liquid. Harry stared at his mutilated arm in unexplained satisfaction before crumbling to the floor beneath him, gasping as the blood rushed from his body at a frightening speed.

The world spun around him and he didn't fight against the haze. Dying hadn't necessarily been his intent when he entered the bathroom; but, as he felt his life draining away out of his right arm, he felt no lingering desire to live. His eyes slid shut and he thought only of Hermione and Ron. A pained smile fixed itself on his face as he lost consciousness. Perhaps he'd find peace in the afterlife.

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 **Thanks for reading! ~Charlie**


	4. Homeward At Last

**Content Warning: Nothing about this story is rated less than M, this chapter included. This story flirts with some very dark themes and is generally not suitable for younger audiences. If detailed violence of any kind, explicit language, or sexual content offends you, do us both a favor and find something else to read. Thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jk Rowling owns everything.**

 **Author's Note: Hello! I realize my chapter posting schedule is not going at all as planned. So, unfortunately, let's go with a bi-weekly update plan. I'm sorry, but I'm just too flippin' busy to get the chapters out on time. Anyway, I love you, all of you. You guys are wonderful and amazing. I want to let you all know that I do read all of your reviews and enjoy all of the feedback and thoughts and ideas you have for this story. I don't usually respond to reviews, which I'm sure some of you have noticed. This is for a number of reasons, the most important being that I'm much too tempted to spoil the whole story to anyone who asks the right questions. But, there was one general concern with the last chapter that I feel I need to answer. It was not the last chapter, not by far. Harry and the rest still have a ways to go. So, in short, no my friemds this is only the beginning. Stay tuned and enjoy :)**

 **Fuck long author's notes, am I right?**

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Chapter 4: Homeward At Last

Nothing about Harry's state indicated that he had died. He felt one hundred percent alive, but as if in he were in some sort of fog. His brain was drowsy and didn't want to break through unconsciousness, but Harry fought against it, feeling frustrated by his inability to move. Glimpses of Pansy's knife jutting from his torso banged around Harry's mind. He began to panic, his paralysis an unwelcome reminder of his terrible past. An irksome beeping escalated in the distance and Harry felt his brow furrow. With a huge effort, he opened his eyes and stared at the blurred ceiling above. Sucking in sharp breaths through his nose, he found the pain in his ribs had mysteriously disappeared. Glancing about himself through cloudy vision, he saw the shape of what he desired resting on a bedside table. Unthinkingly, Harry reached with his right arm and snatched his glasses. Even without proper eyes, he couldn't miss the huge, white bandage wrapped snuggly around his arm.

The realization of what he had done flooded over him like a tidal wave, nearly crushing him beneath its pressure. With a weight in his chest, Harry took note of his actions and how they would be considered. This was, for all intents and purposes, a suicide attempt. What would happen to him now? Would Dumbledore have him sent back to St. Mungo's for psychiatric care? Harry shuddered away the thought. He couldn't bare the idea of having to spend more time in that hospital under the constant eyes of mediwitches. Though, as Harry gazed around the room, it became instantly clear that he was in a Muggle hospital. His heart clenched; perhaps he'd be forced to go to a Muggle mental institution where they'd treat him like he was as fragile as an egg and stuff him full of Muggle drugs.

The door to his room clicked open and Albus Dumbledore strode inside. Both panic and a surprising amount of annoyance began to battle behind his ribs. Harry was beginning to feel sick of his headmaster's prying fingers toying with his life.

"Harry," the man said softly, "What are you doing?" The question seemed clearly rhetorical, though Harry wouldn't have answered regardless. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the bandages wrapped around his arm and subconsciously pressed his lips tighter together.

"I'm checking you out of the hospital. Normally, there's a seventy-two hour lockdown on suicide attempts, but I convinced them that you're a special case." Dumbledore didn't look happy that 'convincing' the hospital staff was necessary in the first place. Meanwhile, Harry wondered where he was going now. Anywhere had to be better than the Dursleys, he decided.

"After a long talk with your aunt and uncle," Dumbledore said, plucking the thought from Harry's head, "They've agreed to let you go back and stay with them until the end of the summer holidays."

As the words sunk into Harry's still sluggish mind, Dumbledore appeared to be much farther away than he should have been. Harry felt as if Dumbledore had simply pressed a pillow over Harry's face as if it were nothing at all. The heart monitor gave away his emotions, the beeping accelerating noticeably. Harry glared at his bandage, mortified by the way his body betrayed him.

"It's where you will be safest, Harry. I beseech you to understand that," Dumbledore murmured, his critical eyes appraising the heart monitor with subdued curiosity. Harry was decided. He didn't care about his own safety. He didn't care about anything. Harry was going to end his own life and no one was going to stop him.

Dumbledore strode to the door, only to hesitate before it, his hand on the knob. "Anymore reckless acts like this one, Harry, and you may not be so lucky. Had they tried to revive you with their...what do they call them...defibrillators, well, let's just say electricity does strange things to a wizard's body." Dumbledore left on that note, the door closing with a click behind him.

Harry gazed at the pea green curtains covering a large window. He'd never felt so far from life, so desolate, so lonely. No one must care enough to take him out of this bad situation. Harry had accepted the lack of love in his life long ago. However, why was it suddenly so much harder to face in light of everything that happened? The Dursleys should seem like child's play in comparison to what he'd been through. It was a question he couldn't answer, a question he could never answer due to his lack of a proper family. Harry leaned his head back against his pillow and began to fantasize about getting out of this place so he could try again. He'd gotten so close this time. Perhaps if he actually intended to die next time he'd be successful.

The door banged loudly open and a large black dog barged into the room. Harry jumped, startled, and gazed at the dog, his eyes widening when he realized who he was looking at. Not seconds after the dog's appearance, however, was Dumbledore strolling into the room on his tail. In one fluid motion the Hogwarts headmaster had closed the door with a sharp snap and began waving his wand, shielding the room from listening Muggles. When Harry's eyes returned to the dog, it had disappeared and standing in its place was a man he knew well. Sirius Black, clad in nothing but a loose pair of slacks and a large overcoat, was glaring furiously at Dumbledore.

"I've stood behind you on almost everything, Dumbledore. But, _this_...this is where I put my foot down!" Sirius said, his eyes burning with conviction. Professor Dumbledore glanced quickly at Harry who stared intently at his godfather with near rapture. Sirius went on, pacing animatedly around the room, "He needs to be with people who love him, Dumbledore. Did you hear what that Muggle mediwitch said? He had a broken rib! His face is bruised. Harry doesn't need anymore torture, blood protection be damned!" Sirius was fuming and Harry felt a twitch of gratification in his chest.

Once again, Dumbledore glanced at Harry, before heaving a great sigh. "The boy needs to be safe, Sirius. He is in grave danger now more than ever. Harry may just be our last hope."

With his heart clenching, Harry noted that he had no hope to give anyone.

"He's going to kill himself before Voldemort even gets to him. He's safest with people who want to protect him. Those Muggles could give two shits if Harry dies."

The headmaster's nostril twitched. Between tight lips he muttered, "You're not his family, Sirius."

"The hell I'm not!" Sirius roared. "I'm more family to him than that giraffe's pinky toe!" Harry almost had an urge to smile in response to Sirius's comparison of Aunt Petunia.

Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose, and Harry realized how uncharacteristic it was of him to show frustration. He turned to Harry then, who immediately sunk further into the mattress under his glare. "Wouldn't you rather be safe, Harry?"

Scoffing mentally at his headmaster, Harry glanced at Sirius who stared back at him. Closing his eyes, he suddenly began to feel very overwhelmed by the conversation. His lack of cooperation only fueled the men to argue further, however. Wringing his hands together, Harry attempted to block out the sounds of heated conversation. His mind drifted to the only safe place it knew anymore: Hermione. Where was she now? Was she well? He hoped fervently that she was at least doing better than him. The drone of the dispute faded into the background and Harry imagined sitting with Hermione on the edge of the Black Lake, joking and laughing about school things; although, Hermione would probably demand he quiz her on her rune memorization instead. He almost smiled at the thought.

"Harry," Sirius said, grasping his shoulder gently, "Just nod if you want to live with me, shake your head if you want to go with your aunt and uncle."

Heart pounding against his chest, Harry stared at Sirius with wide, terrified eyes at being so put on the spot. He wasn't sure why, but the thought of even communicating with anyone made his throat dry up and his stomach churn. All thoughts of suicide aside, Harry had wanted nothing more than to live with Sirius since his third year. This was his chance to convey this. In a huge effort, Harry swallowed back his nerves and sighed deeply from his nose. Then, with tightly shut eyes, he nodded. Sirius let out a lengthy breath before a wide smile broke across his face. Harry forced his lips upward in response. The motion felt awkward and wrong, but Sirius seemed elated from the gesture.

"There you have it then!" Sirius beamed toward the headmaster, his hands clapping together in triumph.

Dumbledore's nostrils flared. "Fine. But if he dies, Sirius, the weight of the wizarding world =is on your hands."

He left the room.

There was an uncomfortable silence, at least from Sirius's perspective, that followed. He glanced at Harry, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, and said, "Thanks for giving me a chance, Harry. I..." Sirius steeled himself for a moment, determining himself to say, "I'll never be able to fully comprehend what you went through, but there are terrors in my past as well. If you are able to...you're more than welcome to talk to me about anything. And, I actually brought you something." He fidgeted inside of his coat pocket, withdrawing a small notebook and an inkless quill. Pressing his lips together nervously, he handed Harry the items. Harry looked at them, taking them with shaking hands, while his eyes lifted to the soft expression across his godfather's face. He bit his lip. Thoughtful and kind these gifts were, the significance of them were lost. They instead filled him with a sense of longing for Hermione who would cherish these items much more than he.

"I thought..." Sirius choked, breaking Harry off his train of thought, "I thought if you couldn't speak...well, you could write."

Understanding clicked in his head at once and Harry pushed the book and quill back at Sirius. With the color draining from his face, he shook his head roughly. He did not want any part of what happened to him documented in any way, shape, or form.

Sirius, however, pushed Harry's hands back to his lap and did not take the gifts back. "You don't have to write about what happened," he said firmly, "But maybe you could write notes about what's going on in your head. And if you want to share them, fine! If not, then I understand. This is a gift meant to let yourself out of your head a little without having to talk."

It was an unbearably kind thing of Sirius to do, Harry couldn't deny. But, that didn't change the fact that he felt dubiously at best toward writing his thoughts. Written words were even more permanent than spoken ones and he had made a vow to himself that he wouldn't communicate to anyone. That wasn't true. Harry had made a vow that he wouldn't speak to anyone. And writing wasn't speaking...right?

The heart monitor started beeping furiously again while Harry deliberated. Sirius waited patiently, taking a seat by his side. He moved to take Harry's left hand but several tubes were connected to a large needle protruding from the inside of his elbow and the heart monitor was connected to his finger. A shadow darkened Sirius's face at the sight of the unfamiliar medicinal methods.

"I need to get you out of here," he said suddenly.

Harry nodded again, this time much more eagerly. Sirius gave a fleeting smile, before standing and walking towards the door.

"Dumbledore will be back soon, I expect. He's already Confunded those bizarre healers into believing you're allowed to check out today." Sirius wrung his hands together, before opening the door a crack, peering outside for several moments. Harry watched his every move, trying to quell his fear that Sirius would leave him alone in this place.

"I see him," he whispered, securing the door with gentle force. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the door click shut and Sirius returned to his side. "Dumbledore was at the front desk talking to one of those mediwitches. He'll probably be back soon to let you come home with me," Sirius said with an eager smile.

Harry's fingers twitched as he glowered at the notebook. So many questions were rushing through his mind, but he was trapped, unable to ask them. Sirius seemed to realize where Harry's thoughts had gone. Snatching up the notebook, he pressed it into his godson's chest, his eyes wide and beseeching.

Once again, Sirius correctly read Harry's burning expression. "You can rip up the pages when you finish," he said, "Or burn them, even. Here." He pulled a metal lighter from his pocket and gave it to him. "You can't do magic outside of school, so you can get rid of your notes with this. Just, please, talk to me, Harry. I know you know you can trust me."

Harry did trust Sirius, but that wasn't the problem. He couldn't break his silence. A sudden, unexpected urge to punch something had his hands squeezing into fists. He shut his eyes, the rhythm of his heart on display for both of them.

"I'm not forcing you, Harry," Sirius whispered, his face disfigured from misery, "I just want to help, but I can't unless you communicate to me what you're thinking."

Harry saw red. His hands snatched up the notebook and opened it to the first page; his movements were rough and violent. Sirius watched with a careful expression.

With the inkless quill, in furiously quick strokes, through the stinging pain of his self mutilation, Harry wrote four words in large script: 'You cannot help me.' With trembling hands, he ripped the page from the book and then proceeded to tear it into fine, tiny pieces. Strangely out of breath, Harry turned his wild, emerald eyes on Sirius trying to convey how badly he wished to no longer exist. The pieces of his shredded note felt like a weight in his clutched fist. Sirius seemed perplexed by Harry's furious actions, but it didn't deter him in the slightest. In fact, he seemed to take it as a success.

"Look, Harry. This pain you're feeling goes away. Not all the way, I won't lie to you. But, it does get better. You learn how to live with those terrible things playing over and over again in your mind. You learn to block them out. You still have so much to live for, so much to do and try and see. I want to help you with all of those things. I want to be there and talk you through it," Sirius murmured. His eyes were fierce, burning his compassion into Harry's mind.

Another sigh rushed from Harry's lips, his head falling forward and his eyes sliding shut. It was true there had been things, long ago, in another life that Harry wanted to experience. But that was stripped from him in the dungeons of his home. He didn't think it possible, regardless, that Sirius could help him in anyway. Sirius opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the door opening. His eyes snapped to Dumbledore entering Harry's room.

Dumbledore spoke directly to Harry, "You're free to leave as soon as your transfusion is complete." He pointed a long, bony finger at the tubes connecting Harry's arm to a nearly empty bag of clear liquid. "At which time, a nurse will be in to get you ready to go home. Are you positive you do not wish to return to your aunt and uncle's, Harry?"

Harry looked at Sirius. He knew it would be much harder to take his own life while living at Grimmauld Place. He was sure Sirius would keep a very watchful eye on him. Though Harry had decided moments before that it was best to die, he nodded curtly at Dumbledore in full awareness of these facts. Perhaps he was not as ready to leave this world as he thought.

Dumbledore addressed Sirius then, "You'd best run along now. You wouldn't want the nurses calling their law enforcement officers on you. I can bring him to Grimmauld Place."

Sirius transformed into the great, black dog again and took a meaningful seat by Harry's side, for which Harry was grateful. True to the headmaster's words, the nurse entered Harry's room moments after the transfusion was complete. She kept sneaking odd glances at Professor Dumbledore while she removed the needle from Harry's arm.

"Dogs aren't allowed in this hospital," the nurse murmured, while eyeing Sirius affectionately, "But I'll make an exception for you, lad. You seem like you need the company." Her eyes were back to analyzing Dumbledore with mild concern, as if she feared Harry wasn't safe with him.

When she finished, Harry was free to leave. Sirius trotted happily alongside him, his tail wagging furiously at everyone he walked past. Acting as his opposite, Harry kept his hood pulled over his head and his face down away from any and all curious glances. He didn't show it, but the relief in his chest was real. He could feel it washing over him like a warm and even stream of water, while he tried and failed to comprehend how much gall it must have taken to stand up to the Albus Dumbledore. When they were outside, Dumbledore frowned at them.

"I leave you here. There is, of course, much I have to do." His voice had lost the harshness of the argument straining it minutes ago; his eyes were still somber, however, as they turned to Harry. "I hope you find peace this summer. I'm afraid your sixth year may be the biggest of your life. Be safe, Harry." With a furtive glance around himself, Dumbledore disapparated.

The two males shared a look before Padfoot was off, taking long strides down the pavement, his claws clicking ominously against the sidewalk with every step. It was a black night. With his stomach flipping nervously, Harry realized he had no idea how long he'd been in the hospital for. The street was scattered with a few pedestrians, though not many vehicles were in sight sans for an occasional ambulance heading to or from the hospital.

Padfoot began to speed up, breaking into a quick trot. Harry struggled to catch up, the pain in his left leg flaring. Each step had him fearing the delicate bone would give out and snap. His heart pounding, sweat gathering along his hairline, breath whooshing out of his mouth, Harry watched the foggy, evening streets of London transform into four stone walls in the castle of his school.

 _With trembling fingers, Harry clutched his right arm carefully avoiding the tender and scabbing flesh perfectly resembling the letter T. His head rested against the hard wall behind him, sucking in sharp breaths between his teeth. A high, metallic clank rang in Harry's ears, startling him to gaze in the direction of the thick iron door sealing his cell. Argus Filch poked his head inside._

 _"Pst, you, boy," he hissed, his eyes wide and dangerous. Harry stared at him, his green eyes betraying his dislike for the caretaker. Filch paid his expression no mind. "Come with me if you want to live."_

 _Harry was rooted to the ground, unable to move. Was this some sort of trick? Filch sighed._

 _"I won't do nothing to you," he said, "But we don't got much time. You have to hurry."_

 _By this point, Harry knew the reward greatly outweighed the risk in this situation. Standing to his feet, he edged toward the open door. Harry stepped over the threshold, bracing for the blow. It never came. Instead, Filch was grasping his shoulder with earnest while his eyes darted up and down the hallway._

 _"Listen here," he whispered, "Get to the Three Broomsticks and ask Rosemerta to use her floo. Don't stop moving, not for anything."_

 _Harry stared at him with wide eyes, the rhythm of his heart pounding in his ears. Could this really be happening? Was Filch really setting him free? He had no time to wonder, but his questions were answered shortly regardless. He sprinted down the hallway - faster than he'd ever ran in his life - his bare feet producing hardly any sound along the dark corridor. Wind whipped through his hair, dirty with sweat, oil, and blood. His muscles were tired; he hadn't had a proper meal in weeks. His heart was pounding, anticipation lightening his battered spirit. Full of adrenaline, Harry pushed his legs as fast as they would move. The hallway began to brighten. Somehow, he moved faster. He jolted past Snape's classroom, up the stairs, into the Entrance Hall. The sun blinded him, but he kept moving. The vast double doors were in sight. A sudden thought had him freezing on the spot, however: Hermione. There was no way in hell he'd leave without her. He spun around._

"Petrificus Totalus!"

 _Harry collapsed to the floor, completely frozen. He'd fallen head first, the bridge of his nose snapping against the rocky ground beneath him. A boot clad foot hooked around his ribs and rolled him onto his back. Pansy Parkinson stared at him, her face expressionless._

 _"Stupid boy. You never should have stopped," she said, "No matter, I caught you in time. Lucky Umbridge has me on her side or you'd be long gone by now."_

 _A small crowd of students had gathered around the two of them. Many were gasping Harry's name with either horror or relief. Behind the cloudy confines of blurry vision, Harry could make out none of their faces._

 _"Umbridge won't be happy about this, Harry," Pansy murmured softly. She stunned him; everything went black._

 _..._

 _"Finite Incantatem!"_

 _Harry gasped awake, his nose aching, dried blood clinging to his cheeks. His hands were bound and he took this as a very bad sign. Opening his eyes wasn't necessary to know where exactly he was._

 _Something cracked against his ribs and Harry jerked away from the sudden pain, finally pulling back his eyelids enough to see Umbridge's flats inches from his face. The skin of her feet bubbled over the edges of the dainty shoes, nauseating him at the sight._

 _"Get up," she barked. Harry did so with a tremor distorting his movements. Finally on his feet, he gazed into her eyes, not daring himself to blink...nor to allow his mind to wander. He knew what would happen and he knew it would hurt._

 _"Filch!" Umbridge barked. Harry blanched, swallowing quickly and ducking his head. Filch hobbled over, sweat gathering along his bald head._

 _"Can you tell me why Mr. Potter has escaped? Have I not explicitly assigned you as his guard?" she hissed between clenched teeth._

 _The color also drained from Filch's face and he spluttered, "Y-yes, ma'am. I was just doin' some moppin' and-"_

 _"No!" she screeched, slapping him across the face, "Pansy Parkinson saw you let Mr. Potter out of his cell and run away. Quite lucky it was that she was there." Pansy smirked at Harry from behind Umbridge's right shoulder, her face glowing with conceit._

 _Umbridge grabbed Filch by the collar, and began to speak very menacingly. "If this boy gets out and they catch wind of what's really going on here, we're going to have a serious problem. And might I remind you how deeply you're involved in all this?"_

 _"This is never what I wanted! This is torture, this is!" Filch roared, throwing Umbridge's hands from off his robes. "If they send me to Azkaban, fine! I deserve it for what we've done to this boy, and the rest of the students. I'm out!"_

 _"Think again," Umbridge snarled, "It's you or him, Argus. Are you truly willing to sacrifice yourself for this good for nothing boy?"_

 _"What do you mean?" he asked, his face loosing its conviction._

 _Umbridge grinned, sensing his weakness. Strolling around Filch, she grabbed Harry by the neck. She began to push him towards the wall, Harry struggling against her. Though she was nearly a foot shorter than he, her weight and his weakness gave her the advantage. Harry's black cotton clad back touched the wall behind him and he could feel the icy temperature even through the fabric. He continued to grab at Umbridge's fingers as he ran out of breath. The headmistress waved her wand; Harry's wrists unstuck themselves only to be clasped in the iron shackles hanging from the stone. She released his neck and Harry coughed._

 _"What I mean, Mr. Filch," Umbridge finally responded, "Is that I won't kill you if you help assure me that young Harry here will never try and escape again."_

 _Filch's face grew even whiter. "K-kill me?" he gasped._

 _"Yes, kill you. You defied me. I have no interest in those who stab me in the back. However, I will allow you to live if you just do me one small favor."_

 _Filch gave her a long look, his face screwing up as if he were trying to interpret ancient runes. Ultimately, he said, "What's the favor?"_

 _"Smart man," she said. Umbridge strolled to a long table and retrieved what could only be described as a sledge hammer. Harry clenched his jaw again and again, not allowing himself to wonder what she was going to do with it. Umbridge handed the hammer to Filch._

 _"Break his leg."_

 _"What?" he whimpered._

 _"He can't run away if his leg is broken. So break his leg," she commanded._

 _Filch looked at Harry, then back at Umbridge. His face becoming more stricken by the moment, he said, "You won't kill me if I do this?" Umbridge nodded, grinning. He lifted the hammer. Harry closed his eyes. The next thing he was aware of through the ringing silence was the sickening, horrible crunch and the agony that followed._

 _Harry's stomach lurched and someone's scream was piercing his ears. It took several moments before he realized it was his. Through a cloudy mist, Harry opened his eyes and saw Umbridge cut out Filch's tongue._

Harry found himself standing in an alley. Sirius was talking very seriously to him, seemingly completely unaware of what had just happened to him. His heart fell in his chest nervously as he realized he had no recollection of walking down this alley with Sirius. His leg ached but he was unsure if that was because of the running or that terrible flashback he'd just experienced.

"Harry?" Sirius said, finally registering the sweat on his face and the terrified, feral expression burning in his eyes.

Harry leaned against the wall, ignoring his godfather, and slid down to the slightly wet ground. Struggling to control his breath, Harry clutched his shoulders, squeezing himself.

"They...they really did a number on you...didn't they?" Sirius crouched low next to him. "The papers didn't tell us anything about what happened to you...just that something was happening. We had no way to get in touch with you. What really happened, Harry?"

Harry didn't answer, nor did he give any indication of registering Sirius's words. That was a conversation he'd never have. Instead he got to his feet and stared at the ground.

Sirius resigned himself to Harry's silence. "Come on, it's best we get going. Like I said, it's important that no one sees us. Could mean a lot of trouble if they know who I am," Sirius murmured and grasped Harry's forearm. With a lurch, they disappeared and then reappeared in front of twelve Grimmauld Place.

"Welcome home, Harry," Sirius smiled.

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 **Thanks for reading. ~Charlie**


	5. The Visitor

**Content Warning: Nothing about this story is rated less than M, this chapter included. This story flirts with some very dark themes and is generally not suitable for younger audiences. If detailed violence of all kinds, explicit language, or sexual content offends you, do us both a favor and find something else to read. Thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jk Rowling owns everything.**

 **Author's Note: Well, hello! It's been three months since my last update, I know. I just have a lot of things on my plate (like moving to a new apartment and working a hell of a lot) so I needed to take a small break from fanfiction for a little while. Not to mention the fact that I rewrote this chapter at least three times and the finished product ended up being well over 7000 words. So I really hope you enjoy it. I'd also like to say thanks so much for the reviews. Your feedback truly means a lot to me!**

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In the midst of several old, identical buildings containing layers of flats on Grimmauld Place rested number twelve, hidden by a multitude of enchantments. The large, labyrinthine estate contained only two inhabitants: Harry Potter and Sirius Black. The pair both rested silently in the midst of a cavernous sitting room. It contained a rather impressive collection of books, most of which dealing with the widely feared subject of the Dark Arts. Harry, especially, tried to avoid resting his eyes upon any of the titles; each of which filled him with a tidal wave of trepidation, immediately pulling him towards his carnivorous memories. He sat cross legged upon a blood red throw rug that covered a vast portion of a dark wooden floor. His eyes fondled his hands while they twiddled in his lap, the fingers intertwining with one another. Pin pricks stabbed his sixth sense unceasingly, but he ignored them. He knew Sirius was staring - prying would be the better term - and Harry felt little motivation to engage him. The small notebook Sirius had purchased lay open in front of Harry, the inkless quill resting atop the pages, waiting to be utilized in the process of expressing written communication. Much to Sirius's dismay, however, the closest Harry's right hand came to the quill was when he flicked a infinitesimal piece of dust from the bottom hem of his worn, gray jeans. Getting Harry to speak was proving a much more difficult challenge than Sirius seemed to have originally expected.

Frustration written across his features, Sirius broke the suffocating silence yet again, his voice becoming more and more steely by the second. "Harry," he began, "Please, talk to me. You can trust me."

Harry, on the other hand, continued to glare at the chipping rubber of his oldest pair of Chucks. While the newly sixteen year old certainly had heard what Sirius had said, he did not give any signal to his godfather for confirmation. Harry wasn't trying to be difficult, far from it in fact. His cold shoulder was nothing more than a matter of a sinking depressive state that had settled into his very core. There was no lingering desire for sociability, no motivational urge to partake in a hobby, no curiosity regarding the topics of his school subjects. Harry was merely surviving, and only just. He knew that Sirius wanted to help him, but Harry could no longer imagine a reality where help could even exist.

It had been a handful of days since Harry's arrival at Sirius's abode. Each day that passed, he remained in a stagnant state of woe. His previous 'suicide' attempt earned him lingering gazes and a nighttime check by Sirius. Clearly, his godfather wanted to guarantee Harry's safety. That much was painfully obvious, but the knowledge of this did little to quell Harry's frustration. What Harry wanted was to be alone. What Sirius wanted contradicted these plans drastically.

"Look, Harry," he said softly, the lines in his face smoothing as he sighed. Running a hand through his tangled black curls, his voice carried the authority of a father as he spoke again. "I know you're hurting. I don't know what happened to you - not half of what happened - but I do know that no boy your age should ever have to go through something like that. I mean, no person should ever experience what you did. It's just so much more tragic, having your childhood stripped from you." The sharpness in Sirius's voice had grown dull, while a glassiness settled into his eyes. "I...I told James - promised him - that I would care for you. Look what job I've done. You've encountered Voldemort how many times now? Five? And now this. What that woman did to you...I can't even tell you how it makes me feel. I would give anything to be able to turn back time and take your place in the Dungeons. If only the time turners hadn't been destroyed... But, Harry, I just need you to talk to me so I can help you."

Harry snuck a peak at Sirius from beneath his eyelashes. His stomach felt like it was churning butter inside it, the long wooden pole sloshing his organs around into a tangled mess of nerves. Sweat gathered along his hairline as bits and pieces of bad, bad memories flashed before his eyes. That aside, Harry had indeed truly heard Sirius and a new sensation disguised the first: his heart clenched with longing to release his darkest moments to the man Harry's father had hand picked to fill his vacant role. Perhaps Harry could try this whole writing thing. If not for his sake, maybe he should try for Sirius...for Hermione.

Harry bit his lip and lifted his head. The green of his irises connecting with Sirius's grey. Sirius looked unimpressed, seemingly resigned to the silence that had now become Harry Potter. Harry, on the other hand, had heard the sincerity of Sirius's words and was touched by them. He knew he had to make a decision. He could either let himself rot from the inside out, or he could try to get better. Feeling dubious on whether a dead person could heal, he decided, regardless, that it seemed preferable to at least try to live. Resigning himself to making an effort, his fingers finally reached out and grasped the quill. Sirius stared, his eyes widening at Harry's hand. Harry clenched his jaw, picked up the book, and began to scribble with shaking hands across the page. Seconds later, he tossed the book to Sirius's feet.

Sirius began to read softly aloud, the recited words making Harry feel abashed. "I appreciate your concern," Sirius read, chuckling at Harry's formality. His humor quickly died as he read the next sentence. "But I don't know of much of me is left."

Harry flinched, the words sounding much harsher spoken out loud. Sirius gave Harry the notebook back and opened his mouth to speak. Harry, however, was already scribbling a short note on the next page. Sirius came to kneel next to Harry and read the words as he wrote them: 'I'm a shell.'

A strange cross between horror and sadness settled into Sirius's eyes. "Harry," he said, "Harry, what did she do to you?"

From Sirius's perspective, the room went impossibly silent. He saw Harry's body tighten into a rigidness that would rival a statue's. But he could not hear the on slot of terror exploding behind the walls of Harry's mind. Harry knew Sirius would ask again eventually. It was inevitable. No one knew the whole story. Only scattered pieces of the tragedy distorted by gossip had been officially been released. Half of it from what Harry had heard was bunk. But to share the story - the gory, horrific details - when he was still living them everyday, over and over again, seemed to him a nightmare.

With a bowed head, Harry swung his neck from side to side. Sirius took his refusal with grace. Placing a hand gently upon the bony flesh of his godson's shoulder, he spoke with unexpected fierceness.

"There are...things you need to know, Harry. Things that Dumbledore made me swear not to tell you. But I think it's wrong to hide this information from you, especially since you were so directly involved." Sirius took a deep breath, took encouragement from the captivated expression burning in Harry's emerald eyes, and began to share his forbidden information. "The night you were taken was the night Dumbledore disappeared from Hogwarts, yes?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, not long after this happened, the Wizarding World as we know it began to disintegrate. The Ministry, as far as the Order can tell, was taken by dark forces. Whether Voldemort was to blame remains to be seen, but I'd bet my life that he was. Anyway, the higher, more powerful factions within the Ministry became suddenly closed off. That's why it's been so hard to tell what truly occurred during those months.

"Fudge was barely seen. No one knew what was really happening at Hogwarts. Any one who speculated about it went suddenly missing, only to return days later with their memories modified. People were terrified, of course. It became clear to many that there was something horribly amiss. Then, the new educational reforms were released. The dementors, the permission of administering corporal punishment on the students, the legalized slaughter of all the school owls...the worst part was that there was nothing we could do. The Ministry was secure and Hogwarts was warded. Our only option was to stand by and watch...listen for any sign that you and your classmates were okay. But you weren't, were you?" Sirius gazed at Harry with a defeated expression.

Harry shook his head.

Incapable of meeting his godson's eyes any longer, Sirius stared down at the bandages wrapped tightly around Harry's wrist. "You weren't...really trying to kill yourself, were you?"

Harry stiffened. He hadn't expected that question. Keeping his eyes carefully downcast, he shook his head a second time. An urge to explain himself more fully came over him, but he fought it off for a reason he didn't know himself.

"There is one more thing..." Sirius began, "There is a prophesy in your name regarding your fate with Voldemort. I can't say more, because I don't know anything further than that. But when it's safe, I will take you to retrieve it."

'Safe?' Harry wrote, his brows rumpling in his confusion.

"Fudge is dead, yes. But the Ministry may still be under the control of the enemy." Sirius's voice had a controlled calmness about it, as if he were hiding the true extent of his fear to Harry. When he spoke again, his voice sounded much more natural, "That is why it is so imperative that you testify against Umbridge. Both Dumbledore and I agree that there may still be enough good souls on the Wizengamot to serve justice against that horrible woman."

Harry's teeth clenched and he wrote a single word with harsh strokes against the paper: 'No.'

Heaving a sigh, Sirius said, "I thought you might say that. Look, don't make any decisions yet, Harry. The trial is not for several months. You may find your opinion has changed when the time comes."

Harry doubted it, but kept this thought to himself. His stomach growled aggressively beneath the cloth of his black hoodie. Sirius grinned, pulling a pocket watch from inside his cloak.

"Kreacher will have dinner on the table shortly, I expect. Perhaps we should move to the kitchen?"

Harry didn't give a response, but he did pick the notebook and quill off of the rug. He stuffed both objects inside of his large pocket on the front of his sweatshirt and stood unsteadily to his feet. With a nod, Harry led the way to the kitchen, leaving all pretence of conversation behind.

...

Harry sat on the edge of the bed Sirius had recently purchased for him. It was a canopy bed, queen sized, and dressed with the black curtains and bedding Harry had pointed out to Sirius. Black seemed to be the only suitable color for him now. Anything else was much too cheerful. He wondered for what felt like the thousandth time whether misery was the only thing waiting for him. While he thought longingly of the things that used to interest him, the glaringly obvious fact remained: he had no more interests.

Following these thoughts proved dangerous as Harry began to contemplate death once again. He weighed the pros and cons, fantasied about how he would do it, and even considered what to write in a note to Sirius or Hermione. This thought was the one that resonated in him. It'd be cruel to abandon Sirius, Harry decided, and it'd be hell in of itself to never see Hermione again.

A knock sounded on his door. Harry glanced up behind glassy eyes as the door swung open. Sirius stood in the doorway, his face solemn. He took a moment to appraise Harry - curled up in the fetal position and red eyed.

"You have a visitor, Harry," Sirius said, his voice controlled.

This didn't register properly in Harry's brain. He'd heard the words, made sense of them, but couldn't seem to be able to apply them to his current position. Someone had come to see him? Who? And more importantly, why?

Sirius took one step to the left and revealed a small shadow standing behind him. Harry watched as the figure stepped from the hallway and into his room, the light illuminating its face for Harry to see. In his utter disbelief, Harry sprung from the bed and launched himself into the arms of his visitor.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sobbed, resting her head on his chest and clutching the fabric on his shoulders. Harry's heart was pounding against his ribs and he was sure she could hear... But what was she doing here? It was very unlike Hermione to show up unannounced. His arms tightened around her, a feeling of foreboding in regard to her well being sweeping over him.

Sirius remained in the doorway, frozen from the sight of their interaction. He didn't speak for several moments as the two continued to embrace. Finally, when Harry released Hermione, Sirius managed to speak, "Why don't the three of us head down to the parlor and have a chat?"

Hermione jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, clearly too caught up in the moment to recall Sirius's presence behind him. Turning to look at him, she nodded her agreement and they walked in silence down the many flights of stairs. Harry had Hermione's hand clasped between his fingers so tightly that her hand began to lose feeling. She didn't give any indication of her discomfort; she could sense his need to touch her and she wasn't willing to upset that.

When the trio reached the parlor, Sirius sat himself in a squashy, red armchair with confusion hidden beneath a fixed smile on his face. "Sit," he offered them, motioning to a loveseat across from his spot.

Hermione followed his instruction, sitting carefully on the black leather before looking back at the doorway. "Harry?"

Harry glanced at her and took several limping steps to stand in front of the couch Hermione rested upon. Instead of sitting on it, he folded himself up on the hard floor beneath him. His legs were kept tucked behind his bony arms. Without warning, Hermione's fingers slid into his hair, playing with the strands. Harry stiffened before looking back at her, his eyes staring emptily at the girl behind him so he could be sure she was not an imposter. Satisfied, his head turned forward and came to rest on his knees.

"I think you have some explaining to do, Hermione," Sirius started, "What are you doing here?"

Biting her lips and glancing downward at the fingers lost in Harry's jet black hair, she said, "My parents are out of town and I decided to come here, hoping to see Harry."

Harry had only heard Hermione lie on a few different occasions. She was terrible at it, and he couldn't for the life of him understand why she was lying now. Playing along for her sake, he kept his face neutral as always and his eyes forward. When Sirius studied Harry's expression for confirmation of his suspicions, there was nothing to read. Harry Potter was a master of being expressionless. Three months of torture as well as sixteen years of child abuse saw to that.

"How did you know Harry was here?" Sirius inquired, his eyes narrowing.

"I didn't," she confessed, "I was expecting to get his address from you and leave. It was a pleasant surprise finding you here," she said directly to Harry, her smile present but wrong; it was like his: broken and empty.

"I see. You were planning on showing up announced at his aunt and uncle's? That would have been...foolish. Those people are monsters."

Harry's lip quivered and his eyes blinked twice, before his face had returned to being completely blank.

"So, that's why you're here, then," Hermione whispered, tapping Harry's head with her finger, "That's good. I was worried about your wellbeing, staying there."

"As was I," Sirius agreed, "That's precisely why I took him out of there."

"How have things been? I've been reading the Daily Prophet. I can't believe everything that's been going on."

"Not well," Sirius admitted, "I've had to be very careful to not be seen by either side. I can't believe how many they freed in secret."

"I know...it's like a nightmare."

"Hermione..." Sirius began, his voice oddly nervous, "Will you be testifying?"

She nodded with vigor, "Oh, yes. There's no chance in hell I wouldn't."

Sirius looked at Harry pointedly, who glared back. Hermione, being ever perceptive, noticed the exchange but didn't comment.

"Your parents know you're here?" Sirius asked.

While her eyes flickered about the room, she responded, her voice filled with the shaky tenor that gives away a lie, "Yes, of course."

Sirius heard the falsity, but ignored it. "And how long do you plan to stay?"

She bit her lip, hesitating. After a moment's pause, she said, "I was hoping until the end of the summer. That is, if it's not too much to ask."

Sirius raised his eyebrows, "Your initial plan was to stay with the Dursley's for the summer?"

Hermione's eyes snapped to the back of Harry's head as she said, "I just...needed to know that Harry was safe."

Sirius leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I don't mind if you stay here, Hermione. I just need to make sure your parents are alright with this."

"No!" she barked, the hand lost in Harry's hair finding its way back into her lap. Her face reddened and she tried to defuse her outburst. "They can't be reached where they are."

"And where is that?"

"Africa, Nigeria specifically."

"Really? What are they doing there?"

She hesitated, perhaps too long. "They...they're helping the needy, preforming emergency dental work on some of the villagers."

"Oh?" Sirius asked, raising his eyebrows, "That's very kind."

"They're very kind." Hermione stared out the window, her face expressionless. After a moment, she slid off the sofa and onto the floor beside Harry. Her hand touched his behind their legs. Harry looked at her, his heart pounding as he remembered all the times they'd sat just like this in the dungeons. He took her offer and their fingers made an impenetrable seal around the other's hand.

"I assume, by now, your parents are accustomed to Owl Post?" Sirius asked, breaking the two's silent communication.

Hermione sighed, "Yes, but I told you, they can't be reached. You can't very well send an owl in the midst of a Muggle village. People would notice how strange it is."

Sirius smiled, "Luckily, the owl I use knows how to be discrete."

Hermione sunk lower behind her legs. She glanced at Harry desperately, and he stared back. Then, hidden from Sirius's view, Harry squeezed her hand. Glancing half apologetically at Sirius, Harry leaned in very close to her, his lips nearly pressed against her ear. When he spoke, the skin of his mouth brushed her lobe.

"Tell him the truth. You're a terrible liar," he murmured. His voice was so soft, so nearly inaudible that Hermione had to stop breathing in order to properly hear him.

Hermione's eyes dropped to the floor. The hand entangled with his desperately trying to escape. He squeezed her tighter, however, more willing to sell her lies than to give up her hand. She sighed.

"My parents aren't really in Africa." Her hand finally stilled in his grasp and she glared, defeated, at the pinstriped rug upon which they sat. Sirius feigned a look of surprise. "To be truthful, I'm in a fight with them. They don't want me to go back to Hogwarts," she muttered, a dark glimmer sparkling in her eyes.

"Do they know what happened?" Sirius asked.

"No. All they know is that I stopped writing to them rather abruptly. Then I came home from the hospital and I was different, so they tell me." She fidgeted for a moment, before adding, "But they couldn't possibly understand that Hogwarts is safe again with Dumbledore in charge. I...try to tell them as little as possible about our world."

"That's probably wise," Sirius agreed, "But even if you're in an argument, I need their permission to let you stay. You're still a minor."

Hermione's face took on an expression of intense dejection. "They won't agree. They don't want me to go to school."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't go to school this year," Sirius said gently.

"That's not an option. We're on the brink of war and I am not skipping out on those who need me." Her voice - thick with emotion - struggled to remain at a volume suitable for civilized conversation. Harry gave her hand a squeeze.

"What if I invite them for dinner? Try to knock some sense into them. Perhaps it will make more sense out of an adult's mouth. You can tell me what you think is best for me to say, if you'd like."

"Perhaps I should just leave," she said, rising to her feet, abandoning Harry's hand in his lap. Harry stared at her, his heart stuck in his throat as it began to accelerate. Shaking his head, his fingers curled gently around her calf. It was thin as a toothpick, his thumb overlapping his fingertips by a wide margin.

"Don't leave!" he choked aloud. His voice was raspy from non use and unshed emotion. His eyes were fixed only on her and a desperate clawing need for her presence was pouring out of them.

Sirius nearly fell from his seat as he heard his godson's voice for the first time in well over six months. His mind had changed instantly. Sirius's first priority was to ensure Harry's safety. If Hermione was who Harry needed, then he'd be damned to let her walk out his front door. "Stay for the night and we can come up with a plan to pacify your parents in the morning."

The two teenagers snapped their heads to Sirius at his unexpected words.

"I can stay?" Hermione whispered in disbelief.

"It's clear that there may be healing found in your companionship. Harry can talk to you," Sirius murmured. He'd never admit it, but a grain of disappointment settled into the belly of his emotions at his self described incapability to help Harry himself. While the questionable feeling remained, his determination to give his new son whatever he needed prevailed.

A gratitude of humongous caliber spread across each teen's face. Harry grew a new found respect for Sirius, one that can only come from a true display of love. It was the first time since he arrived that he was able to see Sirius's true motivation for helping him.

"Why don't the two of you catch up while I tell Kreacher to set an extra plate for supper?" Sirius suggested, rising from his chair. "Do you have any requests?"

Hermione averted her amber eyes at the question, murmuring a near inaudible 'no' before turning her face back to Harry. The latter didn't answer at all, his eyes too busy studying the features he already knew so well. When Sirius left them, Hermione poked him in the ribs.

"You're not even talking to Sirius?" she asked, the tone of her voice a shadow of its once motherly quality.

He shook his head.

"Why?" she whispered, as though she feared the answer.

He shrugged.

"Not talking to me now?"

He sighed. "I'm...having a hard time." Each word was forced and stuttered. He felt so angry and embarrassed at himself that he finally averted his eyes from her.

"As to be expected..." she said matter-of-factly.

"I don't know...if...I can take this." Harry ran his hands through his hair, noticed how dirty it felt, and was disgusted by it...by himself.

"The pain, the flashbacks, the inability to think about anything else?" Her eyes held the weight of the things she spoke of.

Harry looked at her. "You have them too? The flashbacks?"

"Whenever I fall asleep or close my eyes."

He nodded, "Me too."

"Harry...?" she whispered, her eyes wide.

"Hmm?"

"I missed you."

The weight of her words hung in the open air. Harry felt cleansed in them, a small flame smoldering in his heart, spreading throughout the rest of his body.

"You were the only thing I could think about without hurting," he confessed, blushing in the aftermath of his loosening tongue.

She grinned suddenly at him, throwing her arms around his neck. He, in turn, rested his head in her hair. Burying her face against his chest, she sucked in the natural scent of him. It amazed her how much his smell affected her: the way her knees went weak, the way her heart fluttered, the way her inner thighs tightened...

"Do you want to see my new room?" he asked, his voice muffled by her hair. She could only nod.

Taking her by the hand, Harry led the way up the stairs. They passed many closed doors, but the two were still able to admire the improvements made in the dilapidated house. There was a surprising lack of the terrifyingly dark objects they had encountered here last summer. Sirius had replaced most with decorative vases and jars and picture frames. They passed all of them with little interest, their attention entirely absorbed by the other's company. When their feet landed on the third floor, Harry led her to the last door on the right. Stepping inside, he waited while she took in her surroundings.

"I like this..." she muttered, touching the fabric of the canopy. It was black velvet: very soft and very warm. "Everything is so..."

"Black?" he asked, dropping onto the edge of the bed. "It's the only color that appeals to me lately."

She nodded. "I can understand that. There's a certain comfort in it, isn't there? You can hide in darkness."

"Yeah...exactly." Harry stared at the dark, wooden floor beneath his feet. "It...still doesn't feel real to me. Being...alive and living with Sirius. I would have given anything to have this last year. Now...I don't even care. About anything, let alone who I'm living with."

"You must be glad to not be living with the Dursleys' anymore."

He didn't say anything. Instead, his eyes found the small sliver of bandage peaking out from beneath his sweatshirt sleeve. An urge to show her came over him and he deliberated for several moments, arguing the pros and cons in his head. Hermione, even after everything, was too smart for her own good. She'd taken a seat next to him during his pondering and noticed the beam of his sight as well as the tiny strip of white hiding behind his hem. Grabbing his hand, she slid up his sleeve, leaving the thick white bandage on full display. The other scars winding and twisting across his arm were old news, she'd already seen them all. She stared, ice filling up her chest, at the clean gauze neatly wrapped around a new wound. Her teeth clenched and her eyes watered.

"You...I can't believe...Harry...Did you..." Hermione couldn't seem to form a coherent thought, nor take her eyes from the bandage.

"It wasn't necessarily intentional..." he choked, twisting his arm so that his palm faced the floor. There, on the back of his wrist was the neat strip of tape holding it together. The fingers of his left hand trembled as he pulled on the tape. It came apart, the sound of the fabric pulling against the sticky end of the tape giving the air an eerie feel. Harry unwrapped the gauze like he was on autopilot before he realized that the wrappings were a pile on the floor. His right arm hung, suspended by nothing but his own muscle, palm down. Harry sucked in a deep breath and turned his arm over. Hermione's reaction was instantaneous. Her hands shot to her mouth, covering the horrified gasp that slipped from her lips. The tears in her eyes grew larger, a few spilling over the lid to pool against her hands.

The wrist on the inside of his arm still retained the faint shape of a letter 'T' but the brand was now completely disfigured by a snowflake of angry, jagged, and scabbed wounds. There may have been twenty or more slices in total. Hermione found herself locked in the imagery of Harry doing this to himself and it was a torture in of itself.

Face grim, Harry watched Hermione stare transfixed at the monstrosity that was his arm.

"How are you not dead?" she gasped before she could stop herself.

"It was my left hand that I used. The doctor told me if it was my right mutilating my left, I probably would be dead." He didn't include the longing that followed this thought.

"Why..." she swallowed, "Why do they look like that?" Her hands reached forward to gingerly hold his injured arm.

"I went to a Muggle hospital. It's surgical glue...they couldn't stitch this," Harry said. Hermione couldn't help but notice how calm and...deadened he seemed. She'd been with him throughout his decline, throughout the entirety of his torture. When they'd seen each other last at St. Mungo's, he'd at least had some expression, some hope hiding in his eyes. But they were dark now...as if Harry had died while his body continued to live.

"You've...changed since I saw you last." Hermione was scrutinizing him with earnest.

Harry's heart gave a startled clench. "How so?"

"Aside being half a foot taller?" she smiled quickly before letting it fade, "Your eyes are different. You've given up haven't you?"

He stared back but didn't respond. He didn't need to. His silence said everything.

"Why?" she breathed, "You looked...ready to heal at the hospital."

He smiled humorlessly, saying, "That was before I realized how much of me was destroyed, before I went back to the Dursleys' where the rest of me was destroyed. Dumbledore saved me from one prison and sent me to the next."

Nibbling the soft flesh of her bottom lip, she rested her head on his shoulder, his bones poking against her cheek. "You're here now. Sirius saved you this time. Now you're safe."

He laughed, a bitter and angry sound, "What good is locking up broken china if it's already broken? I feel nothing, Hermione. I don't feel humour. I don't feel remorse. I don't feel fear. I don't feel happiness or anger or sadness. I'm just...empty. I don't believe there's any hope for me because I don't think there's any _me_ left."

She was already crying by the time he finished. They were silent tears, accentuated by an occasional shiver. He rubbed her arm delicately, wanting nothing more than to be able to cry like she could. He'd been close earlier, before she arrived, his eyes just on the brink but to no avail. How he craved the subtle release of shedding tears.

"I can make you feel. Will you let me?" she whispered.

He stared at her, confusion tingling in his skull, but he trusted her completely. With a nervous but mildly hopeful nod, he agreed. She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him. Tears still clung to her cheeks and Harry wiped them away for her with his thumbs. He watched as she sucked in a sharp breath and leaned in towards him. Before he could even react, her mouth was on his, melding itself to the shape of his lips. He remained momentarily unresponsive in his shock. She'd only kissed him on the mouth once before and he'd been convinced it was a product of desperation. Now, with the stress and torment behind them, with no aches and pains distracting them, with no fear of death pressing down upon them, he felt the jerking lurch of his heart kicking into overdrive. It wasn't fear or anxiety or any other negative emotion skyrocketing his pulse but excitement. He felt it in his bones, in his very core, and a nostalgic sort of warmth began to spread inside of his chest. For the first time in months, Harry remembered what it felt like to be alive. Feeling his initial hesitation, Hermione began to pull away. Harry's brain kicked on through the fog of her unexpected buss. He shot out his hands and caught her chin with his thumbs.

Harry's ongoing growth spurt hadn't truly registered with him until this moment as he cupped Hermione's face in his large hands and noticed how small and delicate it felt. This realization only intensified the sensation of his body feeling like a separate entity as he began to react involuntarily to the unfamiliar sensations shooting up and down his spine. His lips parted, his tongue darting out to trace the line of her mouth. His lungs seemed constantly empty as he pulled as much of the sweet air surrounding this girl through his nose as possible. With steady hands, he gripped her waist, pulling her closer and she let out a sigh of either relief or pleasure - he wasn't sure which. Deepening the kiss, they explored each other, each revelling in their expression of interest for the other.

He wasn't sure when his feelings for her changed, but it was sometime during his captivity. Perhaps it was because she was the only friendly person he'd had any contact with for those months. But that didn't sound right to him...he was beginning to believe these feelings existed within him forever, carefully locked away in a small safe somewhere deep inside of his mind. But when she'd kissed his cheek at the end of their second year, his heart had fluttered the same way it was now.

Hermione broke him from his thoughts when her legs were suddenly around his hips and her arms curled around his neck. He broke away from her mouth in his surprise, only to find his surprise exacerbated by her lips trailing down his jaw and to his neck. It was clear where this was headed and Harry wasn't entirely sure whether he was even capable of _going there_. It wasn't a matter of his body - which was beginning to respond in both very normal and very embarrassing ways. But rather a matter of his mental wellbeing. Too much was going through his mind as it was; he didn't think he was ready to completely abandon his boyhood. After all, his virginity was the only virtue he had left...

 _A sudden flash of Pansy Parkinson with her own knife jutting from her chest appeared in his mind. She was staring blankly at the ceiling above, blood pooling around her._

Harry gasped, shaking his head to clear the flashblack from his eyes. He slowly became aware of his position, pushed up against the backboard of his bed. Hermione was six feet away, her hands tucked neatly into her lap and her eyes filled with tears. Harry was breathing heavily, looking around himself, making sure that he wasn't still in that wretched place.

"Harry?" she whispered.

His eyes snapped back to hers, noticing the fear inside them. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head, the tears finally falling, "No," she squeaked, "It was my fault. I shouldn't have jumped on you like that."

He blushed, surprising both of them. "That wasn't what triggered me, don't worry. I was going to stop you though. For this exact reason, I don't think I'm ready for that. I have flashbacks more often than I'd like to admit." Harry crawled toward her, curling up on the spot beside her. "I really am sorry."

"Harry, you, of all people in this world, have absolutely nothing to be sorry for," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. Harry remembered Pansy's body a second time, and he shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut and rocking back and forth. Her hands rubbed his back, soothing him. When he stopped his rocking, Hermione let her hand run through his hair.

"Hermione?"

"Hm?"

"You made me feel something. And, for the record, I've felt something for you even longer than that."

In a moment, her lips were on his again. He straightened from his position, his arms snaking around her waist just before she tackled him to the bed. His head was caught by his pillow, and Hermione's mouth - amazingly enough - never disconnected from his on their descent.

"Hermione," Harry said between their kisses with warning colouring his voice as he felt her hips beginning to rock into his. The sensation shot shock waves into the pit of his stomach. His breathing sped up, and contrary to his wish, so did her hips.

Her tongue slid into his mouth and he engaged her in a battle. His hands squeezed at her hips; first to stop her ministrations, but after he heard the soft sounds that had started slipping from her mouth, he was suddenly egging her on. As he took a moment to explore her neck, the sounds she made only increased in volume. His teeth nibbled at the soft skin below her ear and with a new found courage, his hands slid upward to her brea-

"Hoping I'm not interrupting!" came Sirius' voice, dripping with barely contained humour. Dropping his hands as if Hermione's chest was now an open flame, Harry shifted Hermione off of him with ease; she still felt incredibly light. "Supper is ready, so let's get moving, shall we?" The latter half of Sirius's sentence was delivered with a meaningful glance. He turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, leaving the door wide open.

Hermione grinned sheepishly at him, and Harry made an effort to smile back. His heart, still pounding in his chest, felt cold and empty without her touch. She stared back, her smile faltering as she watched the shine of excitement die in his eyes. It was replaced with nothing, not a glimmer or a shine. Her eyes fell to her lap.

"We should go downstairs," he suggested, the cold, hardness in his voice returning.

"Okay," she agreed, her voice weak, despondent. Hermione hadn't been expecting her advances to instantly to revive the boy she'd known for years but she had hoped that something would have ignited within him. At least outwardly, Harry gave no sign of this.

They walked down the stairs shoulder to shoulder, their hands occasionally brushing each other. Hermione caught herself blushing each time it happened. She studied him throughout the whole walk to the kitchen, attempting to locate any trace of the fire she'd lit within him during their kiss. Each time she searched, she was disappointed with what little she saw.

The long table in the kitchen had been set for three. Sirius was already there, sitting at the head of the table, waiting for them. Large saucers with great, stainless steal covers on them filled the far end of the table. The smell of cooked beef made Harry's mouth water. Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably beside him, ringing her hands and shifting from leg to leg. He recalled her aversion to food when he'd left the hospital and wondered if that was something she was still struggling with. Harry chose the seat to Sirius's right and Hermione took his left. Sirius cleared his throat and lifted a platter to reveal several steaks marinated in a sweet smelling sauce.

"Dig in," he urged.

Harry took his usual morsel sized serving of half of a steak, a small scoop of mashed potatoes, and an even smaller scoop of peas. His plate appeared nearly empty to a third party observer, but to him it was a feast. Sirius plopped another large scoop of potatoes on his plate, as if on cue. Harry grimaced.

"Merlin, what's wrong with you kids? You need to eat. It's the most important part of healing," Sirius said, eyeing Hermione's plate as well. If Harry's plate was considered small without the extra helping of potatoes, Hermione's plate consisted of barely more than scraps. Each steak was cut into tiny, equal sized squares and her peas were neatly arranged on the other side of the plate. She'd been spending the last five minutes cleaning off the extra marinade on her plate, weaving her napkin in and out the little spaces between her meat cubes.

"You left this here," Sirius said, holding up Harry's notebook.

"That's what I did too when I couldn't talk," Hermione said, looking at the notebook with an expression of forlorn etched across her face.

Harry choked on his steak and gave Hermione a very clear 'Not in front of Sirius' look.

"You've told him nothing about what happened, haven't you?"

Harry shook his head, his lips tightly pressed together.

"Well, that's hardly fair. He has a right to know. Does he even know about your...problem?" Hermione sounded so much like her old, nosey bodied self he almost forgot to be angry with her. Almost.

His fists clenched on the table and he glared furiously across the wood and into her eyes.

She sighed, "I'm telling him, Harry. Say something if you don't want me to continue."

Furiously, Harry clamped his lips tighter together, the knuckles in his hands turning white.

Hermione's chin lifted in determination before turning to the curly haired man glancing curiously between them. "Sirius, Harry has been having flashbacks about what happened."

Harry's fist slammed on the table, shaking the dinnerware. His nostrils were flared and his pupils were so dilated that the green was swallowed almost entirely by the black.

Sirius turned his eyes on Harry, a deep frown depressing his features. "Is this true, Harry?"

Harry glanced up, his eyes narrowing at his godfather with fury. He felt his tragedy was too terrible to be recounted. The pain and anguish inside of him was his horror, his burden to bear. The only other person in the whole world who knew his story from beginning to the present was Hermione. He didn't want anyone else to know.

Sirius frowned before turning back to Hermione. "How much do you know about what happened to him?" His eyes were suddenly alight with intensity. His mind imagining the limitless opportunity to help Harry if he could only know what he'd been through.

Harry, on the other hand, had the opposite thought. Jumping to his feet, his chair knocked backward and crashed to the floor. Sirius and Hermione flinched, leaning away from one another in their start. When they looked from the toppled to chair to the anguished boy towering above them, he was already busy scribbling in his journal. Ripping the page out and handing it to Hermione, he waited with a pounding heart for her to respond.

'It's my goddamn story!' it read. Hermione glared up at him.

"Actually, it's my story too. I may not have been locked in the dungeons like you were the entire time, but I was in there enough. And I was with you when she hurt you, when she hurt us both. You have no say in me sharing that."

His fingers rubbed up his face, sliding into his hair, before yanking the strands. His eyes were squeezing shut and his his chest heaved under the weight of his anger. Without warning, Harry spun on his heal and limped from the room as quickly as his leg would allow. Hermione sighed sadly, moving to get up from her seat to follow him.

Sirius, however, grabbed her arm gently. "Will you tell me? I'm at a loss as to how to help him."

Hermione hesitated, eyeing the doorway longingly, before reading the need in his expression. Sighing a second time, she said, "Okay. But only if you let me stay for the summer, regardless of whether my parents agree to let me go to Hogwarts." Her own brazenness surprised her, but she kept her head strong and her fingers crossed beneath the table.

His face became roguish. "You drive a hard bargain. But, I'm backed into a corner and you're probably safer here than unprotected with Muggles. I believe you're right about that war."

She nodded seriously, though relief at his agreement was filing her chest.

"Okay," Sirius breathed, "Tell me everything."

With a deep, lingering breath, Hermione began to recount the terrifying darkness of Harry Potter's past.

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 **Thanks for reading! ~Charlie**


	6. Firewhiskey and a Half Told Story

**Content Warning: Nothing about this story is rated less than M, this chapter included. This story flirts with some very dark themes and is generally not suitable for younger audiences. If detailed violence of any kind, explicit language, or sexual content offends you, do us both a favor and find something else to read. Thanks!**

 **Aditional Warning: This chapter shows minors partaking in legal drugs. If this offends you, perhaps don't go through the effort of reading this.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jk Rowling owns everything.**

 **Author's Note: Hey! It's another chapter! I'm so happy. This one sort of fell out of my head, but it's short so... Anyway, I want to say thanks to all of my reviewers and followers and the people who have favorited this story. We've officially surpassed 200 follows, so that's super exciting. I thought I'd post a chapter before the holidays as a special thanks to all of you!**

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In the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, sat Hermione Granger and Sirius Black. They were resting at the long, wooden table in the midst of the cavernous room. In front of them were two mugs filled with a strong, black tea and beside Sirius's was a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. The two had just began discussing Harry Potter's past and Sirius, already looking quite bleak, tipped another shot into his tea. He downed the mug in three gulps, slammed it down upon the table, and called to his house elf.

Hermione - characteristically a rights activists - didn't even bat an eye at the orders Sirius barked at his slave. Her once youthful motives for freeing the tiny creatures had been replaced with a morbid understanding of how this world truly works: no one cares unless it benefits them.

"You were saying?" Sirius mumbled, trying desperately to keep his face calm and controlled.

"Stop!" cracked someone from behind them. The two turned to see Harry standing in the doorway. His unruly hair was wet and appeared to have been toweled off. He was wearing a clean set of clothes, however his black hoodie was still in place. His hands were clenched into fists, not from anger as before, but from frustration as he forced himself to speak. Hermione looked on at him with glowing pride, already fully aware of how difficult it was for him to speak, even to her. Sirius's eyes were wide and disbelieving, his jaw slack with amazement.

"I've...done some th-thinking," he stammered, his hands reaching up to run through his wet hair, "and I...will be the one to...to tell you everything." He looked terrified for a moment, before he steeled himself and said in a determined sort of way, "It should be me."

Hermione dashed across the room to him, hugging him sweetly. He grasped her around her waist, embracing her back. "I'm doing this for you," he crooned in her ear, "Because...you seem to be the only thing that matters to me lately."

She looked at him, tears glistening in her eyes, and whispered, "You have to want to get better for you too."

"One step at a time," he smiled. It was all wrong, Hermione noticed, but the effort he was extending was astounding. Harry took a deep breath and released her.

"Are you ready?" he said to Sirius.

"As ready as I'll ever be." His voice was dreamy, distant and he kept glancing at his mug as if he wasn't sure whether he was hallucinating or not.

Harry took a seat at the table and Hermione took the place next to him this time. She offered her hand and Harry took it.

"What...what have I missed?" Harry whispered.

"I was just telling him about the first night, when Umbridge used the Cruciatis Curse on you in Dumbledore's office," Hermione said, her voice factual and numb. Harry felt lightheaded upon hearing her words, and his face turned a light shade of green.

"Right," he gasped, sweaty and shaking. He took a deep breath, rubbed his hands together and eyed the bottle of Firewhiskey enviously.

Call it an epiphany, or whatever you'd like. When Harry stormed from the kitchen, it was with the intention of escaping the horror of listening to his story out loud. But as he climbed the many stairs to his room and found himself face to face with his own reflection, Harry saw for the first time what he had become. His eyes were empty, soulless. He'd felt it in his core but was surprised by how very much it showed through. The scars winding and twisting their way across his exposed skin made him sick. He couldn't bear his appearance, couldn't bear what had been done to him. He was so furious! How could Hermione tell Sirius when he'd demanded that she kept quiet? And for her to criticise him for not speaking...

 _She wants you to get better_ , a voice whispered inside his head. It was faint and deep inside of him, but it sounded so achingly familiar. _That's because I'm you,_ it said, _The part of me you hid away. The part you thought was dead._ As Harry listened to the words inside his head, he stared deep within his empty eyes. There, hiding inside them, was the shine of his forgotten self. _Hermione cares about us, mate._

 _If she cared, she would keep quiet_ , he spat back at himself.

 _I think that's what someone would do if they didn't care,_ said his old self wisely, _You're not looking after yourself anymore. She's taken it upon herself to do that for you._

 _That's because we need to die,_ Harry thought with narrowed eyes.

 _I don't want to die yet, mate. And neither do you. So stop trying. You know it's not going to work anyway._ This particular thought made Harry's stomach turn. So, he redirected himself.

 _You've been AWOL for the past six months. Now, you've suddenly decided to tell me what you want? Well, this is my life now. You let yourself go._

 _You pushed me away! You kept me hidden and then forgot where you left the key. I'm trapped in here because of that stupid vow you made. Take it back. You have to start talking._

 _Why should I? This world is nothing but a pile of shit. Look what it's done to us._

 _Don't you mean look what_ he's _done to us? This world has beauty in it still. You have to find it. And by god, you have to fight for it. What's become of us if you can't even fight for the things you love anymore?_

 _I don't love anything!_

 _I never thought I'd say it, but yes...you do. You love that girl downstairs. Our best friend. The one who is trying to tell Sirius exactly what happened to us. So he can help._

 _Do you really think that revealing the trauma in my past will help me?_

 _Not necessarily,_ said the old Harry honestly, _but I think it's a start. And, I don't think Hermione should have to be the one to tell. So take a damn a shower, you look despicable. And tell Sirius what you survived._

 _Okay, I'll bloody do it. Just please shut the fucking hell up and leave me alone._

 _Fine, but I'll be back. And I will be watching you..._

Presently, he gripped his hands tighter together watching Kreacher place the refilled mug on the table. Sirius barked at the strange thing to bring Harry a cup of tea, for which he was grateful.

"I was brought into the dungeons after that," Harry murmured. Both Sirius and Hermione had leaned toward him very close, his voice so soft they could barely hear him. "She locked me up in an old and empty storage room. There were no lights in there, only a slat window in the iron door." He shuddered, glancing toward the whiskey a second time. They say it numbed pain. Did it numb your insides too?

Sirius was looking at the table, his fingers clenched into tight fists. He wasn't quite sure if he could bear the idea of this. Harry was so young...so innocent. It was too terrible to even imagine and yet he was here forcing himself to reveal the entirety of his gut wrenching history.

"Then there was this...room." At Harry's words, both Harry and Hermione shuddered, their eyes growing distant and haunted. It was a long moment before he continued, his voice trembling with fear, "She would...bring us in there. Ask qu-questions. Torture us...no matter what we said. It was like a game to her. She demanded I recanted about Voldemort's return. And I did. That was when my silence started."

"It ends now?" Sirius asked, taking a sip of his spiked tea.

"Are you joking? I'm talking to you two only," Harry said with clenched fists.

Sirius, sensing his disdain, said peacefully, "Just do what you can, Harry."

"Okay," he whispered. Hermione squeezed his hand. He froze up for several minutes, his eyes flashing with fear. He managed to say, "Then there was...Pansy."

"That foul excuse for a human," added Hermione, her eyes black with disgust.

"Who is she?" Sirius asked.

Harry stared at the table, his eyes filling with tears. "She's no one; she's dead."

Sirius nodded, his face betraying his confusion.

"I killed her," Harry said. Hermione squeezed his hand tighter.

Sirius's eyes shot to Harry's. "Was it necessary?"

At this, Harry's face wrenched with guilt. "I don't know," he moaned miserably, "She'd been torturing us for so long. I think...I think she was going to kill Hermione."

"Harry," Sirius began, his eyes filled with turmoil, "Sometimes you have to make difficult choices, but it's your intentions in the end that truly matters. People in this world look to others for answers. It seems more...valid to get clarification from another mind," he sighed, took a sip of his adult beverage, and continued, "This doesn't mean anything, though, because there are billions of choices and opinions out there. In the end, what we personally decide is right is all we can go off of. When these decisions are called upon for evaluation, others may not always agree with the choices you've made. It's a hard truth, but, even then, we must stand by our decisions. When it comes down to it, that's all we are - our choices, our opinions, and our thoughts."

Harry swallowed, and looked down at the table. "What's your opinion of me?" His voice was so soft, he barely made any sound at all.

Hermione had remained silent, her eyes flickering between the two men. Harry had his eyes trained on the scars on his hands and wrists. He particularly avoided looking at the angry red scabs on his right wrist, however, having no desire to think about the choice he had made then.

"Honestly?" Sirius asked, his eyes locked directly on Harry's face. The latter swallowed, a line of sweat beading along his temple. "I think you are perhaps the most magnificent person I've ever had the fortune of meeting. Even through everything you've seen, all of the people who have mistreated you, you're still such a sweet and caring soul."

Hermione smiled slightly, rubbing his hunched back. Harry, however, glared menacingly at the hem of his sleeve. He was far from sweet; he was bitter. And caring? He mentally scoffed. He didn't care about anything.

 _Speak for yourself,_ came the old Harry in his head, his voice filled with disgust. _I happen to care about a lot of things. Flying for one..._

 _Shut up,_ Harry shot back.

"Can I have some of that?" Harry pointed at the whiskey.

Sirius, taken aback, glanced down at the gradually dwindling liquid inside of the glass bottle. With grim eyes, Harry watched him deliberate for several long moments. It gave Harry's mental doppelganger a chance to whisper, _I do not approve of this_.

"I...suppose you deserve a drink more than anyone," Sirius murmured sliding the bottle to him. "Your father is probably going to haunt me, but I think you can. You're nearly of age, anyway. And I'd imagine you feel much older than that already."

Harry glanced up at Sirius with knowing eyes. Taking the bottle, he tipped a generous amount into the tea Kreacher had brought him. While stirring it with a silver spoon, he felt Hermione's eyes boring into his back. He bit his lip, knowing full well that her face would be filled with disapproval. Keeping his eyes on his cup, he took a long gulp...and coughed the moment it went down. He understood in an instant why they called it Firewhiskey. It scorched all the way down his throat to settle, smoldering quite viciously, in the pit of his stomach. His eyes watered as he clamped a hand over his mouth as precaution to not being able to keep it down. Sirius grinned.

"It's heavy stuff, but certainly does the trick." There was a slur to his words and Harry supposed that he was right. "So...what else should I know?"

Harry gulped, not quite believing he managed to get this far in the story. Thinking as briefly possible, he murmured, "There is one outstanding thing I haven't told you. Haven't told either of you." Looking pointedly at Hermione's face, Harry grasped her hand. "Umbridge stopped torturing us together after the first month...do you remember? Not long after I tried to escape. Then we didn't see each other for nearly a month, I think."

Hermione nodded, her eyes wide, "That month I was with the other students. She hardly did anything to me. I was even able to talk and eat with our classmates. You told me she went light on you as well that month." Her eyes tightened.

Harry ducked his head. "I wasn't...being truthful. During that month, I discovered certain information about the Ministry. I know what's going on, and I know why and how all of this happened." He hesitated, taking another long sip of his tea, the burn much less pronounced this time. Sirius and Hermione were both looking at him severely.

 _You can do it, mate,_ whispered his mind.

He took a deep breath and said, "Umbridge...is not who you think she is. As a matter of fact, what happened at Hogwarts is much more sinister than what meets the eye. I suppose at first it was just the Ministry sticking their hands where they shouldn't, but when Dumbledore left...that was when something else started going on. A few days after my attempted escape, Umbridge brought me back to the...room."

He saw it all very clearly, and even as he continued to speak, he felt himself falling away from the kitchen in Grimmauld Place. Around him came the high ceilinged room of his nightmares.

 _"Bring him in here!" barked Umbridge to Professor Snape who - since Filch's sudden disappearance - had become Harry's personal prison guard. By the scruff of his neck, Snape threw Harry onto the hard stone beneath their feet. He lay there, not moving his broken body. He could feel Snape's eyes boring down on him, but Harry kept those green ocular receptors trained on the ground._

 _"It's time, Severus. He has demanded it, so shall it be done," Umbridge sung, her toad like face grinning demonically down at Harry's back._

 _Snape didn't respond._

"Avada Kedavra!" _Umbridge screamed and a blast of green light surrounded Harry. He barely had time to flinch before he felt the curse knick his shoulder blade. It burned like fire against him until the spot turned very cold and he felt a trickle of liquid dripping across his back._

 _She kicked him in the spine and he arched away from her languidly. The curse had undoubtedly hit him square on the shoulder. In fact, he was positive he felt a wound where her malevolent magic had struck him. But he was alive._

 _"What tomfoolery is this?" she demanded, kicking him again. He rolled onto his back, an inquiring gaze in his eyes._ "Avada Kedavra!" _she cried again. The light shot from her wand bounced off his chest - slicing through his skin beneath his shirt - and left him very much alive. Umbridge glared maliciously at him._

 _"What is this!?" Umbridge demanded of Snape._

 _"Perhaps the boy is impervious to the Killing Curse?" was Snape's reply._

 _Beneath them, Harry's mind was reeling. Snape remained cold and vile as ever. Harry felt that if this alone did not confirm his suspicions about Snape being out to get him, then nothing would. He didn't make a move on the cold stone, his heart hammering, his chest heaving. He felt chilled where the Killing Curse had hit him. His hand reached to touch the spot burning on his chest, felt his blood wet the pads of his fingers, before his wrist fell back to the stone. His lids squeezed shut, making wrinkles appear beneath his lashes. Snape stared blankly down at him, keeping a peripheral watch on the monster beside him. Umbridge was now scowling at Harry._

 _"He requested it be done this way, Severus," she barked, her eyes shining with fright. "I will have to call upon him."_

 _Snape smirked maliciously, his black eyes narrowing to slits, "I believe that is wise, Dolores. Shall I escort Potter to his suit?"_

 _"Yes. Be quick. I want you around when it happens."_

 _"Of course," Snape seethed, sarcasm dripping from his yellow teeth. Grabbing Harry by the neck of his shirt, he dragged him back to his cell. He didn't struggle. His mind was too busy working through the connotations of what had just occurred. He'd been struck twice with the Killing Curse and had survived. Harry could think of no reasonable explanation, for his mind was now zoned on the fact that she was now unquestionably trying to kill him. And no one was doing a damn thing about it..._

 _Not ten minutes later, Harry found himself in his cell. Snape lingered in the doorway. "Seems people really do get what they deserve, Potter. I tried to tell you but you just wouldn't listen."_

 _Harry lay face down upon the stone. His eyes - once filled with fire and ambition - gazed blankly up at Snape. His chest heaved unevenly, small shudders of pain or cold would rock through him every few seconds. Something flashed behind Snape's beady eyes before it was gone, replaced with his usual hatred._

 _"I'll be seeing you shortly, Potter." The door slammed menacingly shut._

Harry gasped, his whole body trembling as he wrung his hands together over the wooden table. A mug was between his hands and the smell of its contents was burning his nose. Glancing frantically around himself, it took him several minutes to realize where he was and several more to remember what he had been doing. Hermione soothed him, stroking his hair while his trembling slowed. Sirius removed the drink from his hands.

"Perhaps this wasn't the best idea," he murmured, glancing at his hands with disapproval.

"No!" Harry cried, grabbing the mug and downing it in three seconds. Sirius tried to wrench it from him, his expression alarmed. Hermione remained passive as ever, simply watching him drip the spiked tea down his front in the hasty attempt to pour it all in his stomach while Sirius tugged on his arm. Slamming the cup down upon the table, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. His eyes were red but he didn't cough. Sirius stared at him. His face gave Harry the clear impression that he simply did not know what to do at this point. A small and faint twinge of guilt panged Harry's heart. But, his hands still trembling, clutched at the mug like it was his lifeline. Reaching with his left to grab the bottle of whiskey, Sirius snatched it back from him.

"Absolutely not," he said, his face suddenly hard.

Harry frowned but didn't argue. His stomach was beginning to tingle and his face felt a little numb. It was beginning to affect him...

"I think maybe you should get some rest, Harry. You can finish the story when you're ready," Sirius murmured.

Harry stood from his chair, feeling his head spin as he did so. He'd been so close to telling them but he had failed. "Fine," he said, his eyes sharp.

Storming from the room for the second time that night, Harry could be heard stomping up the stairs above them, slamming his door.

Sirius sighed, "Let's get you situated upstairs, shall we?"

...

When Sirius had left Hermione in the room he'd had Kreacher lay out for her, he'd asked her severely to not go into Harry's room.

"It's inappropriate," he slurred, his voice heavy with alcohol, "So, please, just stay in here. I think he may have been a bit - _hic!_ \- inebriated when he went upstairs."

She smiled slightly and gave him her word. She hadn't anticipated, however, that Harry would visit her room in the middle of the night. But he did. Waking with a start at the sensation of fingers on her shoulder, she turned to glance through the hazy remains of sleep at the boy with shockingly green eyes standing beside her bed.

"Did I wake you?" His voice wafted over her, made her feel safe...at home.

"Yes," she answered truthfully.

"I'm sorry."

"What are you doing in here, Harry?" she whispered, rubbing at her eyes. Sitting up suddenly, she pushed the covers off of her and walked toward her bag resting on a lonely chair. She rifled through it for a moment.

"I couldn't sleep. Or...well, I didn't want to anymore," he whispered.

"Bad dreams?"

"You know me..."

Hermione smiled, swiveling to face him. "So what did you think of getting drunk?"

He studied her face for a moment before saying, "It didn't numb me like I hoped."

"I have a vice...and it does exactly what I want it to," she said promptly, holding up a small white and red box up for his inspection.

He took it, his stomach churning nervously as he looked at the little package. "Why this?" he whispered, "They're horrible for you."

"Of course they are. But I don't care. I'm done caring about anything. Especially my well being," Hermione put a long white tube to her mouth. "You wouldn't happen to have a light?"

"I do actually." Harry said, remembering the lighter Sirius had given him. "Wait here."

Dashing to his room, he retrieved his lighter from the corner of his old, antique desk. He was back in a minute to find Hermione sliding open a window. He gave her the little metal square. Opening it, she lit a flame and then lit the end of the cigarette.

"Thanks. Do you want to try one?" she asked, nodding at the box he'd left on her end table. Tentatively, he retrieved one from the pack.

"How do I do this?" he asked, placing the orange end in his mouth.

"Pull through it like a straw," she said, holding the lighter's flame beneath his fag, "Then, instead of swallowing like you would with a real straw, breath in nice and deep."

He did as he was told, taking a long drag, pulling the end from his lips, sucking in a sharp breath, and coughed raggedly into his hand. The other had the offending object between two fingers.

She giggled, "Don't worry. It gets better."

"I hope so..." he stuttered, his voice aching with a fiery burn. He reluctantly took another drag. It hurt, but was much easier the second time around. A moment later his head felt about five pounds lighter than it had before.

"Whoa..." was all he said.

"Is the nicotine affecting you?" she asked enviously, and he nodded, his head swimming as he did so. Getting the urge to sit, he placed himself on the end off her bed.

"This is a night of many firsts," Harry murmured after several moments of pulling and releasing.

"Did you think you'd be older?" Hermione asked, an expression of both understanding and disappointment burning in her eyes.

Harry thought for a moment. "No...I never thought much about this stuff." He held up his cigarette. "But when I did, I always supposed I'd just try it when I felt like it. When I felt ready."

"Why did you do that with the whiskey?" Hermione asked, her face stern.

Harry suddenly looked quite small, his shoulders hunching further and he couldn't manage to meet her gaze. "I...," he whispered, "I just wanted it to go away."

Hermione stared at him, her face going through a variety of changes, starting with surprise and ending with empathy. "You had a flashback didn't you?"

He nodded.

"I could tell...the way you were telling the story..." she shuddered.

"I was still talking!?" he gasped, horrified.

"Yes," she said, surprised, "All of your...hesitations in your speech sort of disappeared. It was like...we were all there with you, and you were telling us what was happening to you."

"I...that's horrible," he whispered, his eyes focusing on the half smoked tube between his fingers. He took a long drag, breathing in harshly and coughing again. "Ugh, I don't know if I like these."

She smiled grimly, taking a pull from her own. "Yes, they take a bit of getting used to."

"Why do you do them then?" he asked, his voice politely interested.

She looked at the dark floor, finding the chipping polish on her toenails, finally whispering, "They serve me a higher purpose."

Intrigued, Harry leaned toward her, "And what purpose is that?"

She frowned, flicking her ashes into a glass of water. Harry glanced down at the stick of ash growing on his own and he carefully maneuvered himself over to Hermione's makeshift ashtray. Her soft brown irises were large in the moonlight and they were fixed on his face. She could see the scars across his neck, the shadows they cast against his skin. She wanted to touch them or to heal them...to make them all go away. He felt her gaze and he looked at her through the lenses of his circular glasses.

"They kill my appetite," she admitted, her eyes falling once again to to the floor.

"I see...so, you're still not eating," he said, his accusing eyes boring into the side of her head.

"Just like you're still not talking," she snapped.

"And yet you criticised me for it. You were going to tell my horrors, my past to Sirius," he shot back, his voice rising with anger. His heart was beating in his chest as her betrayal from before replayed in his head.

She didn't fight back like he expected, whispering instead, "I know I never should have done that. I just hate to see you like this. You're...you're worse than me." She broke off with a gentle sob, her eyes filling with tears. "I just...I needed to do something, Harry."

He looked away, listened to the sound of traffic outside, gazed at the dresser, the desk, the bed, the nightstand...anywhere but her eyes.

She grabbed his sleeve, "I'm sorry."

Sighing heavily, he said, "What if I did that to you?"

"I know. It was awful of me," she cried.

His eyes finally made it to hers, saw the tears of regret sliding down her cheeks. Pulling her into his chest, he pressed his lips into her hair. "I know you're trying to help me," he whispered, his mouth tickling her hair as he spoke, "But please run things by me before throwing me to the wolves like that."

She nodded against his chest, "I promise."

Harry ended up staying in the room with her that night. Hermione protested, telling him what Sirius had asked of her. But Harry promised he'd leave as soon as the dawn light broke the horizon. Pacified, Hermione allowed him to crawl in bed behind her. Their backs were to the other, but pressed tightly together. Moments before Harry fell into a dreamless sleep, he felt Hermione grasp his hand.

At dawn, Harry arose from the bed still fully dressed from the day before. He felt more rested than he had in months, however, and he smiled thankfully at his best friend. Her hair was a chaotic mess across her pillow, but the rise and fall of her side was peaceful. He wanted to kiss her hair once more, to have the sweet scent of her hair linger in his nose, but he refrained. She was too content to disturb. Slipping from the room, he walked to his bedroom with a spring in his step.

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 **Thanks for reading and Happy Holidays everyone! ~Charlie**


	7. To Love and to Lose

**Content Warning: Nothing about this story is rated less than M, this chapter included. This story flirts with some very dark themes and is generally not suitable for younger audiences. If detailed violence of any kind, explicit language, or sexual content offends you, do us both a favor and find something else to read. Thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jk Rowling owns everything.**

 **Author's Note: Well, hello, everyone! I know, I know, it's been months. I'm very sorry to be so absent for so long. I've had a lot of ridiculous crazy shit going on in my life lately. I have no interest to get into any of it, but I'm glad to be back and posting again for now. This story in particular is a huge help in my life. I get to take out all of my disgust and anger in the world out in it. And, just like I will one day prevail over the awful things in my life - past and present - so will Harry and Hermione, one day. So, in short, thanks to everyone for the support. I know a lot of you have questions about the plot so far, how certain things don't make sense or don't seem right, but this is the way I had imagined the story from the beginning. Much of it still has not been revealed and I still have a ways to go with this story, so I hope you'll stick with me until the end to see whether all your questions are answered (which, of course, is my goal.)**

 **Without further ado, I leave you to fall into this miserable story and hope that you enjoy this next estallment.**

* * *

Chapter 7: To Love and to Lose

Morning rose as it always does inside of the large, rectangular bedroom. The sun peeked through the black curtains lining the old, antique windows inside. Rays of light reflected off of the large, chestnut desk occupying the far left wall. Across from the canopy bed, was the wide Victorian dresser that contained an odd mixture of Muggle and Wizard clothes. Sunshine came to rest on the rug in front of the bed, its rays causing a dreamy effect across the room. Harry watched the stream of light reflect off of the dust motes floating languidly in the air around him as he rested against the headboard of the bed. Behind his green eyes were thousands of thoughts tiring his brain. A large portion revolved around his usual terrors, the things that haunted him so in his past. A barrage of emotions suffocated him beneath the memories and he wondered whether it had been better to not feel anything at all. His mind was full, congested with sorrow and longing, but even as he felt that simply no more could fit inside of his skull, more thoughts, new feelings were bombarding him. Hermione seemed to be the focal point of the new mental revolving. There was something tugging in his chest whenever he thought of her. He didn't know what it was.

I keep telling you, the irksome voice from earlier chimed inside of his head. He pictured a smug grin on his own face, but without the scars and lines of worry and despair. You love her.

Harry sighed, but didn't grant himself the satisfaction of responding. He didn't have the faintest idea of what being in love felt like. It'd be preposterous to assume he had fallen for a girl he'd never been with romantically. Harry slid his feet beneath the covers of his bed, then his legs, then his torso until even his head was completely hidden by fabric. It was a small haven inside of his comforter and he felt that he'd like to stay in there forever... A knock echoed on his door not two minutes later. Harry froze.

"Harry?" It was Sirius's voice.

Being careful to not make a sound, Harry pulled his pillow up and over his head, burying himself further into his mattress. From behind him, the door clicked open.

"Harry, I was hoping to talk to you," he said, his footsteps clunking softly on the wood below him.

Harry bit his lip. He hadn't decided whether he was willing to continue speaking to Sirius. It was true that he hadn't told the whole story, not by half. He hadn't even included the most important facts. But in the light of the morning, it was strange and, in some ways, despicable to him that he'd spoken last night at all.

"I'm proud of you, of what you accomplished last night with Hermione and me," Sirius murmured, and his voice matched his words. The joy was evident in Sirius's voice, as if he'd just been reunited with the best of friends. Harry's stomach burned while his resolve of silence wavered yet again. Sirius continued, oblivious to Harry's train of thought, "I know that speaking must have been incredibly difficult, but you did it." He edged closer until his voice was coming from above Harry's head. "That being said, I feel that I should apologize for letting you drink that whiskey. It was very irresponsible of me."

A wave of guilt further nauseated Harry as he thought of his behavior with the alcohol. Why had he acted like that? His body - still curled tightly in a ball - tightened further.

"I would also like to say that I don't want you to feel pressured to tell the rest of the story, until you're ready," he said before pausing. Harry found this to be a kind gesture and his insides tingled with genuine gratitude. Sirius's tenor changed when he spoke again, however, into a more stiff sort of tone, much like one would use during a tense business meeting. "But, that isn't why I've come to talk to you. It's about Hogwarts."

Harry stiffened even farther, his muscles tightening to the point of near pain.

"I've had Kreacher gather your books for the new year. I need to know whether you feel...capable of going back."

"When?" Harry whispered, his voice tight.

"Two weeks from tomorrow," Sirius said, his tone struggling to find neutrality.

The strangest mixture of terror and joy battled in the midst of Harry's chest. He loved Hogwarts; it was the only home he'd ever truly had. But in light of what happened at the end of last year, he was afraid Hogwarts had become as daunting to him as Azkaban itself.

"Professor Dumbledore told me that he needs you at school this year. But, Harry, that won't stop me from telling him off if you're not willing to go back." The fierceness in Sirius's voice that Harry had heard in the Muggle hospital had returned.

Harry pulled his pillow off his head, and glanced with tired eyes at him. "I'll go. I should go."

"Are you sure, Harry? I want you to be where you feel the safest," Sirius said, his words quivering with fearful tension.

Harry nodded, "Hogwarts is safe when Dumbledore is around."

Sirius glanced at Harry, a trace of apprehension ghosting his eyes. "I suppose you're right about that. So, you're sure then? You'll return to Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

Four stories below and fifteen minutes later the two had met up with Hermione at breakfast. The small party lingered around the empty table, sniffing at the smell of the house elf's cooking. A lingering scent of sausages had each mouth readying itself for the flavor. Uncomfortable silence thickened the air, however, and each pair of eyes began to wander about the room. Hermione studied the china enclosed in an ancient looking cabinet while Harry stared at a painting of a man with shifty eyes. Every few moments the man in the portrait would glance over his shoulder or down at a pocket watch. Sirius, much too accustomed to the strange furniture in the Black manor, kept his eyes on his own hands while he listened to the distant sounds of cooking ware colliding in the kitchen. A measly five minutes passed before Kreacher levitated three plates of sausages, eggs, and homemade, breakfast chips into the room. A large pitcher of pumpkin juice flew lazily behind the plates as they came to land in front of each person. Kreacher snapped his fingers with several angry mumbles and three crystal glasses disappeared from the china cabinet and reappeared in front of the plates.

"That's all, Kreacher. You may leave now," said Sirius, an edge to his voice. Kreacher bowed low to the ground before continuing his cursing of the new occupants in the home of the family he served.

Feeling overburdened with memories, Harry focused on keeping his mind blank whilst his brain fought to torture him, so he settled on watching Hermione stuff food into her napkin. The sight of her doing this made him feel sick, but he wasn't sure what to do or how much he could even say particularly in the presence of Sirius. She was lucky he respected her wishes, he decided, while half of him regretted thinking such things. Harry looked downward. His own plate was still relatively untouched and, when he caught Hermione's eye, he took a large and deliberate bite. She stared back at him, her eyes on his lips as he chewed. Harry felt suddenly exposed under her scrutiny and ducked his head, gazing at the plate of breakfast in front of him.

Sirius cleared his throat. "Hermione, we need to talk about your arrangements. I know I said you could stay but I at least need to speak with your family before that can happen."

Hermione blanched, recovered, then said calmly, "Well, you can't. They'd know you're an escaped convict. You were all over the Muggle news."

Sirius sighed and glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. He took a large bite of food, chewed for a moment, then said, "Then I'll send them an owl. I can't just sit by while your parents must be worrying sick."

Hermione sighed, but didn't respond. There were several moments of silence that followed. The chinking of silver against porcelain echoed ominously off of the high walls and arched ceiling. Finally, as each plate began to empty, Sirius murmured, "Why don't you two get some fresh air? You can go into the yard without being seen."

Placing his fork down onto his half empty plate, Harry stumbled from the dining room and up the stairs. He looked far away, his face haunted, while he walked up the steps and out of sight. Hermione followed after a moment, an expression of concern arising at Harry's odd behavior. He was waiting for her by the front door, his hands balled into fists, his eyes shut tight. Hermione stepped toward him cautiously.

"Harry?" she whispered, her hand reaching to touch his chest. He grabbed her hand, squeezed her fingers with his own, before opening his eyes. Hermione stared at him for several moments, waiting for him to speak. He didn't. He was still lost in own mind, his eyes glassy. She studied him for several moments. "Harry?" she said again.

His eyes snapped to hers and he sucked in a sharp breath, as if he'd stopped breathing for several moments. His vibrant green eyes popped wide and he collapsed onto the floor, his back against the wall, his knees against his chest. Hermione knelt beside him.

"How often does this happen?" she whispered, her eyes glancing down the hall at the stairs leading to the kitchen.

"Often," he gasped between heavy, desperate breaths, his hands covering his face and muffling his voice.

"I think we should talk to Sirius about this," Hermione murmured, her hand straying into his hair, playing with the unruly strands.

"No. He already knows. But, he may not let me go back to Hogwarts if he knows how bad it really is," Harry sighed, his breathing nearly returning to normal.

Hermione grimaced. "I don't want you to suffer. It hurts to see you like this."

Harry stared at his hands for a while. Finally, he looked up into her eyes and whispered, "I'll tell him about my flashbacks if you tell him about your eating habits...or rather, lack thereof."

Hermione glared at him. "That's different."

"Hardly."

"Fine. We won't say anything. For now." Hermione's brows were low over her brown eyes, staring regretfully at Harry. Harry traced the shape of her face with his eyes, marveled at her subtle beauty. He wanted to touch her again, to see if her skin was as soft as it looked. Her lips parted and he could see the bottom of her now perfectly sized front teeth.

"Do you want to go outside?" he whispered. Hermione's face was quite close to his; she could feel his breath warm her cheek.

"Yeah. Let's go." Hermione grabbed his arm, standing and trying to pull his weight up with her. He pushed himself up to his feet, lacing his fingers with hers.

The front yard was filled with overgrown grass and weeds. The black iron fence enclosing the perimeter was covered in vines twisting their way across the spokes. People could be seen walking about, cars driving past, but no one glanced in their direction. Each set of eyes would simply slide past them, as if they weren't even there.

"It's a beautiful day," she said, looking at the cloudless sky above.

"It is," Harry murmured in response.

She sat on the top most step leading to the path. He followed suit, sitting beside her. Grabbing her hand, he watched the passersby and enjoyed the silence they shared. It was several minutes before it was disturbed.

"Harry?" Hermione murmured, her head turning in his direction. Her face was carefully neutral, though there was a spark of fear floating in her eyes.

"Yeah?"

"How do you feel about me?"

Harry turned his head straight, letting it fall upon his chest whilst twisting his fingers against one another. His heart began to accelerate as he pondered her question and how to answer it.

Finally, he murmured, "I like you a lot, Hermione." His eyes tightened for a moment before he added, "How do you feel about me?" His stomach was in knots as he waited for her answer. What if she didn't like him at all? Would his response cause her to no longer want him as a friend?

"I like you too. A lot," she said smiling genuinely for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

Harry released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. A thought occurred to him while they sat in euphoric silence. He wanted to call her his. He didn't want even the slightest chance of someone else gaining her affection. His throat dried up for several moments each time he leaned toward her to ask. Hermione gazed at him questioningly.

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, then he spoke rapidly into the warm summer air, "Do you want to be my girlfriend?"

Hermione glanced at him. She remembered the year before last, the slander she faced for a false rumor of a relationship with him. She remembered how much she wished it were true. Never had she considered that being his girlfriend was a realistic possibility. Her eyes locked onto his, her smile lingering on her lips. "Yes," she whispered, "I do."

He hugged her. His arms snaked around her waist, squeezing as tightly as the emotion constricting his insides. Each breath he took was filled with her sweet scent. His eyes watered against the undiluted joy resonating within him as he struggled to believe that she had actually agreed...had actually seemed to want to be his as badly as he wanted her.

Her head - previously resting on his shoulder - pulled back to gaze at him for a fraction of a second. In that second Harry registered two things in her expression. The first was a burning need, nearly animalistic in its intensity. The second and better concealed was unquestionable and undeniable adoration. She gave him no time to react, however, as her lips were crushing him with a ferocity he didn't think her capable of delivering. This kiss was quite different than their first couple. There was a sting inside of it, a fear, a panic. A sixth sense of a foreboding future bit against their lips and tongues while they collided with urgency, as if their was no time, as if something so sweet and beautiful could never possibly last for them. They were broken souls, dying in their own special ways, but yet within each other was a small haven, constructed perfectly for their needs. Could it last? Or would it crumble like everything else in their lives?

When the kiss ended and they stared wondrously into the other's eyes, they felt the rest of the world crash back upon their shoulders. It was lighter now, somehow. The burdens merging as one and splitting evenly on two separate shoulders. They were still scarred, still beaten into submission, but they saw a hope now, a promise even, of recovery within their pairing.

Grimmauld Place had seen its fair share of history. The cobbled streets and dilapidated houses were enough proof of this. But even amidst the stories of the residents, both gone and living, it was hard to imagine someone else feeling quite as wonderful as Harry felt in that moment. Surely no one on this grungy street corner had ever felt the mounting love exploding inside of their chest like he did in that moment. It was simply an impossibility.

"Let's go somewhere," Hermione whispered. Their eyes were still connected and it took Harry a few moments more than usual to register her words.

"Go somewhere?" he repeated, "Like where?"

"Like two blocks away to the corner shop there," she murmured.

"For cigarettes?" Harry demanded with narrowed eyes.

She smirked, "No, for the Muggle newspaper. Of course for fags. What else?"

"I wish you wouldn't smoke those," he murmured gently, "They're awful."

"Yes, well, you tried one, didn't you?" she muttered, already standing to her feet and brushing off her backside. "Doesn't that make you a hypocrite?"

"I don't smoke them habitually. I tried one once. There's quite a difference." Yet even as he spoke, he stood to his feet and began to follow her towards the gate. Hermione opened the latch, pulled the metal free, and began to step onto the sidewalk.

"DON'T!" Sirius hollered, dashing outside suddenly, "ARE YOU INSANE!? DON'T YOU KNOW IT'S DANGEROUS!?"

Both teens froze at his booming appearance and stood half inside the barrier, half in the open. Sirius with a desperate growl grasped a wrist each and yanked them back into the yard. Harry glared warningly at Sirius as Hermione stumbled beneath his force while his arm steadied her before he pulled her in closer to his side. Glancing down the mostly deserted street, he turned back to Sirius with a sour expression, but didn't say anything. There were several things he wanted to say but the anger singeing his veins had his lips fused together.

"I just wanted to go the Muggle shop not far from here. You know the one on Chester Road?" Hermione chimed innocently. Sirius's expression softened in response.

"I understand that you want to get out, but the world has become a very dangerous place. I can't protect you out there if you run into trouble," Sirius said.

"We won't need protecting," she said persuasively.

However, Sirius started shaking his head before she'd finished speaking. "I wish you were right, but as you can't legally do magic, I can't take the risk of letting you two wander around."

Hermione sighed, glanced at Harry whose jaw was clenched tightly shut, and nodded dejectedly at Sirius. He began to back into the house before hesitating with his hand on the door. "If you need anything," he started, "I can have Kreacher pick it up for you."

"No, that's okay. Thank you, though." Hermione watched him nod and shut the door. She waited another minute or two without speaking after Harry's godfather disappeared from sight. Finally, she turned to Harry and said, "Okay, let's go."

Harry stared at her, his eyebrows raising.

She rolled her eyes, "I can't very well have Kreacher buy me cigarettes, now, can I?"

"Didn't you hear what he said?"

"Of course, I did. But we'll only be gone for a few minutes. What's the worst thing that could happen?" Hermione flipped her hair back out of her eyes and glanced sneakily towards the house.

"Who are you?"

She looked at him. Her cheekbones stuck too far from her skin, her chin appeared larger and sharper, the bags and dark circles beneath her eyes stood out in stark contrast to her milky white skin. She was so thin...even her hair looked thinner and that was saying something.

"I'm definitely not the same person I was last year," she admitted, her eyes falling to the ground, "Are you?" Her eyes were now gazing into his.

He shook his head slowly, "Not even close."

Hermione placed a gentle kiss on his lips, lingering sensually, before she was whispering in his ear, "Come with me. Will you?"

He turned his head, letting his lips brush against her jaw, and said back, "I'd follow you anywhere."

Her answering blush filled him with a happiness that was beginning to feel less foreign to him. She backed away, her face lightening with a smile, and dashed outside of the gate. Harry's eyes widened as he watched her sprint down the road. Taking off after her and ignoring the flaring pain in his left leg, Harry felt the free air rustling his hair and warming his skin.

"I'll make you eat those words!" she called back to him ten feet in front and disappeared around a corner. He chased after her, a small smile finding its own way to his mouth. It felt strange, but it was very real and he revelled in it, pushing himself to run faster.

What would have been a fifteen minute walk was over in five minutes flat. The two teenagers stood gasping in front of the little corner shop, doubled over and grinning from ear to ear. Harry's leg was burning beneath him, but he didn't care. He felt so alive!

The outside of the store was covered in posters advertising various cigarettes, liquors, and ready-made meals. Inside, there were two other people. One was behind the counter, leaning against the top and reading a newspaper. He half glanced up at them as they entered, before he returned to his activity. Another man stood at the far end of the store looking at the vast collection of soda pop offered in the fridges lining the back walls. He had his back to them but even as Harry couldn't see any specific details about the man, a feeling of unease came over him while he stared. After a few moments, the man turned to look at Harry. He gave him a once over, and smiled slightly before he turned and exited the shop without buying anything. Harry shivered as he walked past and felt a wave of relief when he was gone from sight. There was something about him, something Harry couldn't place. He turned to speak to Hermione about it, but she was leaning against the counter paying for a pack of cigarettes she was not old enough to buy. The man behind it didn't seem to mind selling them to her, as he smiled lewdly at the low cut of her shirt. Harry's eyes narrowed and something close to anger filled him as he stared at the man. He wanted to curse his face off for looking at Hermione like that...or perhaps even just punch it. That would be fine too. Hermione skipped back over to him and planted a kiss on his cheek. Harry glanced at the now sour expression on the man's face and smirked at him.

"Shall we go then?" Harry asked her, lacing his fingers with hers.

She nodded and they exited. They walked slowly back this time, Hermione lighting up her addiction and offering him one. He refused this time, hoping that she would stop if he provided a good example. "Do you think Sirius noticed that we left?" she asked.

He shrugged, "Probably."

"Suppose he'll be angry?"

"I'd have to say yes," Harry murmured.

"Hm."

A silence followed. Their footsteps echoed against the hard, cobble streets beneath them while they shuffled along. Harry's leg was bothering him quite badly now, and his limp added an offbeat to the mix of their steps. Hermione noticed how very much he was staggering with each step. Her heart gave a tight squeeze and she slowed her pace, swinging an arm around his waist.

"You can lean on me if you like," she murmured, hugging him tighter.

He smiled through the bites of pain, but said, "I'd crush you."

"Please," Hermione scoffed, "I'm not *that* fragile."

"Hermione, you probably don't even weigh a hundred pounds. Me, I'm around one-fourty. I would crush you," he said again.

"You're so thin, Harry! How tall are you?" she gasped, her face taking on an expression of near adoration. Her eyes raked over his body, lingering on the jagged angles of his cheekbones, the tight line of his jaw.

"I'm not sure. I used to be five four, but I think I've grown since...since I left the hospital. Or perhaps in it. They fed me a ton of food in there. It was quite uncomfortable, eating again," he told her.

"That's why I don't do it. It causes me too much stress to eat. Plus, I think I'm starting to like my body smaller." Hermione grimaced as she admitted this, as if it were a slip of her tongue. Harry, upon hearing these words, studied her face which she kept deliberately pointed away from him. There was something deeper than she led on about her sudden issues with food. He just didn't know what it was.

In the lull of their conversation, Harry heard quiet footsteps echoing off the cobble behind them. His breath caught in his throat as he turned his head to find a man lurking some twenty feet behind the two of them. They made eye contact. Harry swiveled his neck back round.

"Hermione...I don't mean to alarm you, but there's a man following us," Harry whispered.

Hermione stiffened, her own face disappearing to look at the man in question. When her eyes met his again, they were quite concerned, "I recognize that man. He was in the store before us."

This information surprised Harry as he turned a second time to look at the man. He realized, while his eyes racked over the figure once more, that Hermione was right. "What do we do?"

His heart was beginning to spike, and, from the sound of Hermione's breathing, he deduced hers had as well. After a moment, she whispered, "We just have to get back to headquarters. He can't follow us in there."

"We can't lead him back there, Hermione," Harry muttered nervously. "What if he's dangerous? Or reporting to Voldemort?"

"I think he may be," Hermione said, a grim expression on her face.

Harry glanced back once more. The man was now much closer behind them. His shadow - elongated by the rising sun - was almost touching the edge of theirs. Harry glanced at Hermione, observed the hard set in her jaw and the crease above her brow, and knew that she too was becoming terrified.

"Hermione," he whispered as softly as he could. She didn't indicate it to be so, but she was hanging on his every word. "You need to run to Sirius's. You need to get away."

"And what about you?" she asked without hesitation.

"I'll be fine. I'll set him off course," he responded, glancing back once more. With a start in his chest, he noticed two other people had begun to walk in stride with the man following very closely behind them.

"He's after you, Harry, not me. And you can hardly walk." Hermione said, her chin set stubbornly.

"All the more reason for you to get away." Harry's jaw was clenched tight and he purposely kept his head foreward. The corner of Grimmauld Place was now in sight. "Go, Hermione. Get Sirius and tell him what's happened. If both of us get caught then there's no hope."

She knew he was right, but that didn't change her need to stay with him. "I won't leave you to them." Her eyes were filling with tears, her voice straining under the pressure of them. "I can't."

"You must." He fixed her with a stare. "It's the only way."

She shook her head but he was pushing on her back. She started to gain distance away from him and finally, with one last, desperate look in his direction, she sprinted down the road.

"Don't let her get away!" came a voice behind Harry. Wand drawn, Harry turned and stunned the man now rushing after Hermione. Without hesitating further, he stunned the other. He pointed his wand at the man he'd seen in the shop. It was too late, before he could cast another spell, the man had tackled him. Harry glanced back at Hermione and saw her form disappearing behind the corner as he tumbled to the ground.

She was safe.

The man - his eyes black as night, his teeth and nails pointed sharp - grinned maliciously down at Harry.

"Do you know who I am, boy?" the man growled.

Harry didn't speak. His wand had fallen two feet away and his hand groped for it. He was too far away. The man snarled and wrenched him further away from the smooth piece of holly branch lying innocently on the cement.

"I am Greyback. I am the most feared werewolf to ever live," he barked proudly, grinning down at Harry's writhing form.

Harry was barely listening and he swung a fist into Greyback's face. The man grunted, blood flowing freely from his nose, before plunging his large, inhuman teeth into Harry's neck. Harry cried out, unable to contain it. The pain was surreal and unlike any other he'd felt. He felt the man's teeth shred his skin, but the aftermath of the fire he left in his wake spread through his neck unconstrained. He probably should have bled out, but Harry was quite used to surviving when he shouldn't have by . Greyback stood and grabbed him by the arm, dragging Harry's limp body up with him. Then they disapparated. And they were gone. The two stunned men and Harry's wand lay alone on the street corner.

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 **Thanks for reading,**

 **~Charlie**

 **P. S. I already know you hate me for the cliff hanger and more angst. Feel free to let me know how much ;)**


	8. Lost and Found

**Content Warning: Nothing about this story is rated less than M, this chapter included. This story flirts with some very dark themes and is generally not suitable for younger audiences. If detailed violence of any kind, explicit language, or sexual content offends you, do us both a favor and find something else to read. Thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jk Rowling owns everything.**

 **Author's Note: Hey guys. I just wanted to thank you all for the reviews and the follows and favorites. You're all wonderful. Thank you. Without further ado, here is the next chapter.**

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Chapter 8: Lodt and Found

Hermione Granger sat alone in one of the many guest rooms in the Black Manor. Amidst this room was a variety of items: several shirts and pants were scattered across the floor; a sweatshirt hung off the back of an old antique chair made of iron, which stood in front of an equally old vanity where a hairbrush, toothbrush, various soaps, and make up lay atop. On the large canopy bed in the center of the room rested a trunk the size of a small dresser lying open and revealing several black school robes folded neatly inside. Two end tables stood alongside her bed, the one on the left with its drawer hanging open. Inside it, were several small, white and red boxes and four lighters of different colors. In the far right hand corner of the room, next to the open closet - empty sans for a black, lacy dress hanging on the rack, Hermione was curled into a tight ball upon a wooden chair standing crookedly beside a matching wooden table that supported another small white and red box and two wands. She stared out of the window shifting occasionally as her tailbone digging into the solid surface of her seat became too painful to ignore.

He was gone.

It was all her fault.

Her bony hands left the bony knees to reach up and grab at her lank curls, pulling and wrenching until her eyes were watering from the pain. Only then would she stop, return her hands to her knees, and continue to stare out at the corner of Grimmauld Place.

Harry had been missing for three days.

Three days.

He could be dead.

A whimper escaped her and with a shaking hand she retracted a Marlboro from its white and red box and placed it between her lips. Lighting it was a task in of itself. Her hands were trembling so badly she couldn't hold her wand steady enough to ignite it. It was these bloody cigarettes that made her drag him to his doom. But she needed them. They kept her from eating. Eating was...unacceptable.

She glanced at Harry's wand resting on the table beside her while she took a long drag. They had found it on the street with two other unconscious men. At least Harry had gone down with a fight. That was always the case with him.

Harry couldn't be dead. He simply couldn't die. He had told her this.

And...he had told her how he felt just minutes before it happened. He'd asked her to be his girlfriend. Her heart gave another sickening jolt.

At least...at least, she knew he cared about her. Before it was too late.

A barrage of angry voices erupted from the lower floors of the house. Hermione closed her eyes and tried not to listen. Grimmauld Place had once again been filled by the Order of the Phoenix. When Harry had begun living there, both Dumbledore and Sirius requested that the Order stay clear of the Black Manor. Harry's emotional turmoil made it necessary to have peace and calm. The constant activity of the Order would unquestionably disrupt this. Since his absence, however, the house was once again teeming with life. Their quests were all identical: find Harry. A knock on her door echoed hollowly in her ears. Hermione stiffened, but called a quiet, "Come in."

As the door creaked open, Ron Weasley peaked his head in the door. "Hey," he said with uncertainty.

Hermione glanced at him and nodded, taking another drag from her cigarette. Ron looked surprised but didn't comment, walking slowly into the room and taking stock of his surroundings. "You...you look really thin, Hermione," he whispered, sitting on the edge of her bed, next to the trunk leaking school clothes and books, and getting a good look at her.

She wished now that he had commented on her new addiction instead. "Thanks." Hermione flicked her fag with unnecessary force.

"I...well," he studied her face for a while, "It wasn't a compliment. You look sick. Are you okay?"

She fixed him with a stare while her heart stuttered with both joy and fright. Looking sickly should not be a good thing. "You know what happened. You should know the answer to that," Hermione muttered, her voice shaking. She didn't want to remember. It was beyond painful to recall.

The room went uncomfortably tight in a matter of seconds. Ron's tortured expression made her feel rather guilty for a reason she couldn't explain. That bothered her. She was having trouble with explaining things lately.

"Hermione..." Ron began, his face bone white, "Fred and George, they stopped me from going back to get you. They knew what happened to you and they knew you weren't coming back. I tried to run out of the forest but they tackled me and dragged me back to the portkey. Maybe if I had gotten away, I could have put a stop to things."

"Ron," she whispered, looking away, "Don't be ridiculous. It was out of all our hands. Harry thinks I don't know, but I know. That...woman...was a Death Eater."

Ron stared at her, some of the color returning to his face in his consideration. "Are you talking about Umbridge?"

"Don't say that name!" she cried, putting her hands over her ears and looking stricken.

Ron paled again, his hands shooting up in apology and nearly tumbling off the bed in the process. "I'm sorry, I didn't think!" he blurted.

Trembling, Hermione lowered her hands. She looked ready to cry; she felt like it too. Her arms wrapped around her torso while she remembered that she was freezing.

"She's a Death Eater, yes," she murmured, her voice quavering, "I saw her Mark. I knew what was happening and I couldn't stop it. The things they did to him..." she trailed off, her eyes far away. She couldn't say anymore. An all too familiar panic was beginning to attack her already pounding heart.

"But, if she was a Death Eater, then the Ministry..." Ron trailed off uncertainly.

Hermione glanced up in surprise. He'd come to that conclusion rather quickly. "Exactly."

"And Fudge?" Ron asked.

"I only have suspicious," she said, suddenly looking a bit more like Hermione should, "But, I have a feeling his cooperation with the whole ordeal was not because he wanted to 'please the people'. Fudge was being controlled."

The house continued in its booming excitement below them while Ron registered exactly what she implied. "So...You-Know-Who is in control of the Ministry?"

Hermione bit her lip, nodding regretfully. Ron turned very white as she looked out of the window, glancing with futile hopes that Harry would be on the street below, staring up at her. It was empty instead. She threw her cigarette at it.

"Do you think that's where Harry is?" Ron whispered after several moments of silence, "With...him?"

Hermione's eyes shot back to Ron's, terrified and miserable. "That's exactly where he is."

"Do the others know?" Ron asked.

"I told Sirius. Sirius must have told the Order by now," she murmured, shifting in her seat again.

Another knock echoed on the door. The two teens glanced up as Molly Weasley entered the room.

"Hello, dear," Mrs. Weasley smiled at Hermione, who didn't smile back. "Supper is ready. I want you downstairs in no more than five minutes, Ronald," Mrs. Weasley fixed Ron with a pointed stare. Blushing, Ron glanced to Hermione then away quickly.

When Molly left the room, Ron's eyes flickered to Hermione again. "I'll see you downstairs?"

She hugged herself tightly, before nodding. "I'll be down shortly."

He left and she turned back to the window and to the street which still remained empty. A knot tied in her stomach while she turned away from the summer breeze and toward her bed with no lingering thought of dinner. Crawling inside her bed, Hermione couldn't help but feel warm and safe beneath her covers. There was something missing beneath her sheets, she decided with a pang in her chest, as she lay alone. She remembered how wonderful it felt to have Harry in her bed just a few nights before. What if he really was dead? What if they could never lay together again? She closed her eyes, trapping the tears threatening to fall.

 _The next thing she knew, she was standing alone in the Gryffindor Common Room. It had to have been early morning - it was still dark, and everyone was still asleep. As she stumbled on trembling legs, farther into the room, she could hardly believe her eyes. She never thought she'd see this place again. That wretched woman had dragged her along the corridors with a sack over her head and when she had finally pulled the knit bag over Hermione's eyes, Hermione had turned to her, frozen and confused._

 _"You're free," that ugly woman had said pleasantly to her as if this conversation were of little more importance than the color of the trees, "For now." She then raised her wand and spoke an unfamiliar incantation. Hermione collapsed, her body glowing with a sick, yellow glow. The glow retracted into her body, and Hermione let out a faint cry, as a light sweat had broken over her brow. Wide and bulging, the woman turned her wide, toad-like smile down on Hermione. There was a nauseating hint of foreboding in it._

 _Hermione shivered now, staring at the dark fireplace covered in soot and ashes. She was freezing, only in a thin nightshirt and underclothes. Stumbling upstairs and to the girl's dormitories on autopilot, she somehow maneuvered the stairs and entered the room marked 'fifth years'. She rubbed her forehead and tiptoed to the empty bed directly across from her._

 _Her foot caught on an unknown object jutting out from the corner of Lavender Brown's bed and she tumbled to the floor. Cursing loudly, Hermione rolled onto her back and struggled to cover her knees with her dress as the other girls began to light their wands and gather around her._

 _"Hermione!" they chorused, as Lavender's eyes filled with tears. She fell to her knees beside Hermione, sobbing, and grabbed her hand, helping her sit up._

 _"You always leave things at the end of your bed, Lavender!" Hermione cried, the normalcy of her statement leaving her with the sensation of tears. Her eyes widened. No sound had left her lips. She glanced around at them all staring at her, looking both relieved and aghast. She turned back to Lavender. "What's happening to me?" she gasped, but again she made no noise._

 _"You can't speak?" Lavender whispered._

 _Hermione closed her mouth and shook her head, her stomach falling into her toes. She remembered the curse that Umbridge had put on her and she glared at the shadows beneath her bed._

 _"Hermione," Parvati said, grabbing her arm with abruptness, as Hermione looked up, coming out of her thoughts unwillingly. "Is Harry alive?"_

 _Hermione's eyes widened. Nodding, she thought of Harry and shuddered. "Barely," she would have said if she were able_.

A knock reverberated off the walls of her room. Hermione opened her eyes. She uncurled herself slowly, feeling her bones pop and crack as she did so and sat up. Rubbing her eyes, she called, "Come in."

Sirius stepped through the door, his wary eyes falling on her diminished form resting in the large canopy bed. "You missed dinner," he said accusingly.

"I wasn't hungry," Hermione sighed, glancing towards the window. The sky was now black outside.

"Please don't lie. You must be starving," Sirius murmured.

Hermione looked up at him and grimaced. "I'm fine."

"I've spoken with your parents," he said. She glanced up at him. "They want you to come home."

"You probably want that," she whispered, "Don't you? After what happened. It's my fault he's gone."

Sirius swallowed thickly. "Don't say that. It wasn't your fault, Hermione. You couldn't have possibly known-"

"You warned us!" she cried, her fingers burying into her hair, pulling at the strands again. "And now he's probably dead because of me."

Sirius stepped forward as if he wanted to grasp her hands and pull them away from herself, but stopped mid action. Instead, he put his hand out to her. "He's not dead, Hermione. Voldemort would make a show of it."

She released her hair, but wrapped her arms around herself, imagining Voldemort display Harry's mangled body for all to see - lifeless and unmoving, the green eyes staring glassily into nothingness. She sobbed and covered her mouth.

Sirius threw up his arms as if to say 'the hell with it' and rushed to her side. His hands hovered over her for a moment before he decided on patting her back rather awkwardly, as he murmured, "We're going to find him, Hermione. We have to stay positive. We'll bring him back. He's definitely fighting to get back to us, to you at the very least."

Hermione whimpered and looked up at him when he said this. "You think so?" She couldn't help but recall Harry curled in his cell at Hogwarts, broken in every sense of the word. Had he tried to escape then? She remembered his limp and recollected that he certainly had.

"I see the way he looks at you," Sirius said wisely, "I saw that look in James' face when he looked at Lily. I don't think anything will keep Harry away from you."

Hermione smiled tearfully at him, a feeling of hope spreading through her so fast that she leaned forward and hugged him. Sirius blinked, and patted her back once more.

"Sorry," she said when she released him a few moments later, her face stained a pretty pink, as she sniffed and rubbed her eyes. "That was just really nice to hear," she half laughed, half cried. Sirius smiled warmly at her.

He attempted to make her eat or to write to her parents again over the next several minutes, but Hermione would agree to neither. He left her finally with a frown and a shake of the head, while she stared after him, thinking wistfully of Harry. Standing, she made her way to the chair in the corner and sat upon it. As she placed the cigarette between her lips, she looked down at the street below, raising her wand just as she heard a sudden _pop_. A long, thin, and limping figure stumbled across the street of Grimmauld Place, clutching himself around the middle and dashing as quickly as his limp would allow to the Black Manor. As he grew closer to the house, Hermione could see that he had a tangled mess of black hair and round black glasses. Hermione's heart stopped beating as she stared at him and her cigarette fell from her lips. Darting to the door and racing down the many stairs as quickly as possible, she found herself in the foyer and wrenched open the door. Harry Potter was stumbling towards her, bleeding, gasping, and from the look of it, barely conscious.

"Harry!" she screamed and ran into the yard. Four men in black cloaks with masks over their faces Apparated twenty meters behind him, catching sight of Harry and chasing after him. "Run!" she screamed and pointed at the Death Eaters. Harry didn't bother glancing back, but sped up and stumbled through the gate, collapsing into Hermione's arms. The Death Eaters gathered around the fence and stared up at the houses above them, wands out, but they could not see Harry or Hermione or number twelve at all.

Harry looked up at her and smiled slightly, his face swollen and cut and bruised, managing through it all to say, "I found...you...Her...mione..." Harry's weight sagged against her and she began to struggle beneath him.

"Sirius!" Hermione cried, clutching Harry and trying to pull him into the house with little progress. "Sirius!" she screamed again. Many people began to gather around the entrance of the Black Manor, some dressed in nightclothes with tired eyes and others dressed and wide awake. Upon seeing who Hermione was struggling to support, they all rushed into action. Kingsley, Lupin, Sirius, and Arthur - after sharing similar glances - charged passed the gate, wands out, and chased after the four Death Eaters. Tonks and Mrs. Weasley rushed forward and pulled Harry off of Hermione's shoulders. Ron rushed forward and pulled Hermione inside behind the two women passing Fred and George - rushing off to help Sirius and the others - on the way there. Ginny lingered in the hall and followed after Molly and Tonks, her face white.

Beneath Ron's supporting arm, Hermione stared at Harry's legs faltering beneath him with every step. She bit her lips at the sight wondering how he could have possibly gotten back.

Mrs. Weasley and Tonks pulled him into the sitting room off of the foyer. Laying him on the couch, Mrs. Weasley immediately began to run her wand across his chest, her face strained. Harry's body was bleeding and mangled once more. His lips were swollen and his nose had been broken. Two dark bruises were forming beneath his eyes and a large gash was oozing blood from his forehead. Hermione bit her fist and stared at the mess of him sprawled across the couch.

"I'm sending word to Dumbledore," Tonks announced, striding to the corner of the room where several broomsticks rested. "I'll be back as quickly as I can, Molly."

"Hurry. Tell him to bring Poppy," Mrs. Weasley whispered, slicing Harry's shirt down the middle with her wand and gasping sharply when she pulled it away. Tonks strode from the room as Hermione looked down at Harry's bare chest. A rush of cold swept over her at the sight. There were large slashes running across the right side of his body and great, black bruises swelling his ribs. On his stomach was a round gash bubbling blood over his abdomen and spilling onto the couch beneath him.

"Ron, get me some towels from the washroom upstairs. Hermione, go up to the third floor and get the Essence of Dittany from Sirius's supply closet. Ginny, you stay here with me," Mrs. Weasley said, her brown eyes tight with worry.

Hermione stood her ground. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying with him."

Ginny looked up at her gratefully, her face an even paler white than it had been before. "I'll get the Dittany, mum. I'll be back before you know it." She dashed up the stairs.

"Well, alright, dear. If you're sure you want to see this," Molly murmured to Hermione, her face lit with worry.

"I'm not leaving him," Hermione promised, kneeling beside Harry and taking his left hand.

Harry arched unconsciously, his fingers squeezing around Hermione's, before he cried out in obvious agony. Mrs. Weasley continued waving her wand above his wounds.

Fred and George entered and rushed to the back of the couch. They both hissed when they saw the shape he was in. "Dad, Sirius, Kingsley, and Lupin are rounding up those Death Eaters. They've all been Obliviated," said Fred.

"Is Dumbledore on the way?" asked George.

"Dad wanted to consult with him before deciding what to do with them," Fred explained.

Mrs. Weasley nodded, "Tonks went to get him."

The room went silent except for the occasional moan from Harry's unnaturally still body. Hermione stared down at him, her eyes watering continuously, but she blinked them back each time they threatened to spill over. After a few minutes, Ron came dashing down the stairs, his arms loaded up with bandages as Ginny followed close behind, carrying a small phial with a deep blue liquid inside.

"We're back!" Ron stated breathlessly, thrusting the gauze into Mrs. Weasley's arms and staring down at Harry with a hollow expression. Ginny placed the bottle down beside Mrs. Weasley's leg, walking with a dazed expression to Fred and buried her face in his arm. George reached over and patted her back. Hermione looked away, feeling intrusive. Harry gave a sharp gasp as Mrs. Weasley dropped the Dittany onto his stomach. The wound sizzled and began to scab over. They all watched in grim silence.

When she dropped the Dittany onto the large gashes on his chest and onto the seeping bite mark on his neck, they sizzled just like the previous, however, they began to bleed with more urgency instead of beginning to scab like the first. Harry shuddered and grunted, his face scrunching in pain. Capping the Dittany, she began to press the bandages onto his wounds with urgency.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked, staring at the blood saturating the white fabric at an alarming rate from Harry's neck and chest. Hermione noticed with a start how incredibly pale Harry was beginning to look.

Mrs. Weasley ignored Ron, her eyes flickering to the window, and murmuring, "Hurry up, Nymphradora."

Hermione's heart felt like it would beat from her chest. Everything seemed far away and distant yet still distinctly clear. She could feel her whole body trembling but she couldn't stop it no matter how hard she tried. Would he die now? Was this the last time she ever got to see him alive: mangled, broken, bleeding on Sirius's couch, and gasping for air every agonizing moment? She flinched away from the thought and leaned closer to him.

"I love you," she whispered in his ear with a tremble in her voice. She couldn't bare to say goodbye, but she didn't dare stay silent.

When her words reached his ears, Harry opened his eyes. Slowly, his left hand reached up to rest on her cheek. The Weasleys jumped at the movement, staring at Harry in shock. However, Hermione froze, her eyes locking onto the emerald orbs shining with emotion.

"I love you too," he said, clear as day.

He collapsed back onto the couch, his arm falling to the floor limply, and he sucked in several sharp breaths, as if he'd just run a marathon. Hermione, very pink in the face, glanced at the people surrounding her. Fred and George were grinning, occasionally whispering things in each other's ears that made the other grin wider, while Ginny glanced at the floor, her eyes shining with tears. Mrs. Weasley was staring tearfully down at Harry in a way that made Hermione clasp Harry's hand even tighter, willing to the gods and the elements and the universe that he would survive. Ron, on the other hand, was staring directly at her, a look of both loss and acceptance battling across his face.

The door opened to allow Sirius and Remus to enter. They crossed the threshold with urgency and gathered around the boy dying on the sofa. Sirius placed his hand carefully on Hermione's shoulder, the other resting on Harry's damp and bloody forehead. She looked up at him and smiled joyously, tears spilling from her eyes.

Sirius knelt beside her, "What is it?"

She sniffed and whispered, "He told me he loved me."

Sirius looked at her, a slow smile forming on his cheeks, and said, "I told you he'd come back to you."

Hermione blushed and looked back at Harry's white face. Another wave of nausea passed over her as she noticed again how impossibly pale he was, eyes closed, only moving to gasp in as much air as his lungs would allow - which wasn't much from the sound. Had he been saying goodbye as well? She recoiled from the idea.

"Where's Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley asked suddenly, taking stock of who was present.

"He's standing guard over the Death Eaters," Lupin said.

"Alone?" Mrs. Weasley cried.

"Kingsley is with him," said Sirius, waving his wand over Harry himself.

"Where is Tonks?" Remus asked, glancing about the room.

"Off to get Dumbledore," Molly said.

"Alone?" said Remus, his eyes wide.

"Well, yes," she admitted begrudgingly, "But who was I to send, Remus?"

"I'm going after her," he said, walking toward the door.

"Can you at least look at the bites on Harry's neck?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

Lupin froze, his neck turning to look at the woman kneeling beside Harry. "Bites?"

"I think so, yes."

Lupin strode around the couch and looked down at Harry's neck. "That's a human bite," he said, taking one glance at his neck. "But, those," he pointed to the slashes on Harry's chest, "Those look more sinister."

"They're both reacting the same way to the Dittany," Mrs. Weasley said.

"How's that?" asked Sirius, his eyes fixing themselves on Molly's rigid form.

"They begin to bleed more, and this bite looks days old," she rendered.

Lupin's brows set low over his eyes and Sirius looked quite disturbed. "Sirius, do you have any powdered silver?" Lupin asked.

"I may have a bit," Sirius answered, already standing to his feet. "But...you don't think it'll work do you?"

Remus knew what he was asking and looked sharply at him, "We shall see, won't we?"

Sirius strode from the room as quickly as he could. Hermione shifted closer to Harry, as if her presence could revive him. Mrs. Weasley looked to Lupin. "Is there a way to know for sure?" she asked.

"What?" Ron asked, "What's going on?" He looked at Hermione to as if to read the answer off her face. She looked up at him, feeling weak and scared. She didn't want to tell him, she didn't want it to be true.

"Ron," George said, waving him over.

"What?" said Ron a bit defensively.

"Come here," Fred said, patting Ginny on the back and nudging her away from him. She stumbled away with wide, red eyes and stood in a far corner, wrapping her arms around her chest. Ron edged toward the back of the couch. Mrs. Weasley looked as though she did not think Ron should hear this news from them, but decided that they would have to do. Continuing to wrap the bandages around Harry's crumpled ribs and sliced skin, she did not look up as they walked Ron solemnly around the corner. When they returned Ron was nearly as pale as Harry. Sirius charged down the steps two painful breaths later.

"Here you are, Remus. There's not much, but I hope it'll do," Sirius said, eyeing the nearly empty glass container with regret.

"Hopefully, we won't need any," Lupin corrected, lifting a pinch from the jar and sprinkling it across the bite on Harry's neck. "Now the Dittany, Molly."

Mrs. Weasley squeezed two drops onto his neck. It sizzled and began to scab. Every set of eyes in the room tightened with morbid understanding as Harry shuddered, squeezing Hermione's hand tightly. Molly and Remus followed the same steps with the cuts on his chest which sizzled and healed just like the others. Molly dropped a few more drops onto the grotesque gash on his abdomen and watched the scab grow infinitesimally smaller. Harry coughed rather violently and blood spilled over his lips, running down his cheeks. The air inside of the sitting room tightened to an unbearable intensity.

As if on que, Dumbledore strode through the front door and into the sitting room, Tonks on his heels. Remus smiled tentatively at her, frowning when she looked away, her hair turning a slightly darker shade of brown as she did. Madam Pomfrey trailed in after the two of them, looking rather flustered.

Mrs. Weasley nearly collapsed with relief at the sight of her. "Thank you," she said, her eyes filling with tears as she smiled at the three people standing over her. Madam Pomfrey gave her shoulder a little pat and knelt beside Harry.

"Merlin," she whispered, wincing at the sight of him. She immediately got to work, opening a professional looking bag, and pulled out several phials and bottles. "I need some room, please," she barked, her wrinkled eyes glaring feverishly at the room's occupants.

Sirius stood and lead the lot of them to the door. Hermione continued to clutch Harry's limp hand even when Sirius looked at her and frowned. As the others filtered out of the room, he made his way to Hermione's side. Madam Pomfrey tutted.

"You too, girl. I'll fix him up, good as new. Don't you worry," she said.

Hermione shook her head, staring fiercely at Harry's bruised and scarred face. "I won't leave him," she whispered.

Madam Pomfrey looked desperately at Sirius. He knelt beside the trembling girl and put his hand on her shoulder again. "It's time to let Madam Pomfrey help him, Hermione. He'll be okay, I promise you. I kept my promise before, didn't I?" Sirius smiled at her softly. She looked up at him, then back down at Harry.

"What if he's not okay? What if she can't fix him?" Hermione whispered, her voice trembling.

Madam Pomfrey bustled and said, "There's nothing here I can't take care of. Now, please let me tend to him."

Hermione's brow creased but she knew she must leave. Sirius took her hand and lead her from the room. When she reentered the foyer, a much larger crowd than before had gathered around the sitting room doors, talking excitedly to one another. They all jumped at Sirius and Hermione, asking hushed and nervous questions. Feeling panicked and overwhelmed, she snuck around the crowd, running up the staircases that led to her temporary room. There she collapsed into her bed and cried.

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 **Thanks for reading. ~Charlie**


	9. The Dual Quests

**Content Warning: Nothing about this story is rated less than M, this chapter included. This story flirts with some very dark themes and is generally not suitable for younger audiences. If detailed violence of any kind, explicit language, or sexual content offends you, do us both a favor and find something else to read. Thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jk Rowling owns everything.**

 **Author's Note: So, I couldn't help but notice a certain animosity towards Harry becoming a werewolf. Haha, I honestly wasn't expecting you to be quite so worried. He'd still be Harry, guys, come on! Don't be prejudice. Anyway, fortunately for you, it was never my intention to make him a wolf anyway. Maybe I'll change my mind because of how excited you all see for this to happen. Funny enough, I had considered writing a fic where Hermione becomes a werewolf. Not sure if I want to anymore with that kind of reaction. Hahaha! Anyway, here is the long overdue chapter 9. Enjoy, my little psychos.**

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Chapter 9: The Dual Quests

It didn't matter what had happened or what was going to happen or even who it was going to happen to...because he had found her. It had taken three, long, excruciating days to get back to her, but he had done it. He had promised her he'd follow her anywhere, and it was wise to make good on promises. How had he done it? It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that he'd finally told her the truth.

...

When Harry first opened his eyes after returning to the Black Manor, he found himself in the sitting room on the first floor, holding Hermione's glorious face. The room was filled with people, all staring at him while he bled and ached. Somehow, he mustered the strength to tell her he loved her. Immediately following this resolution, he'd collapsed back into the darkness, away from the pain and away from reality.

The second time he opened his eyes, it was to find himself alone in his bedroom. Everything was exactly as he had left it. His trunk was tucked neatly into the corner, Hedwig's cage stood empty on the chestnut desk. His notebook, quill, and lighter rested atop the desk alongside the cage and the chair in front of it held his black hoodie. The dresser door stood slightly ajar, revealing a mess of clothes piled at the bottom. More clothing was scattered across the floor. But, where was his wand?

Harry tried to sit up, gasping as the bandages across his bare torso rubbed painfully against his wounds. Clutching his chest, he heaved himself off the bed and onto his feet. His legs felt...strong. Both of them. He tested his weight on each and found no pain in either. Blinking in surprise, he put this revelation out of his mind until later. He had more important things to do. Having already accomplished the first of his tasks, he decided it was best to get going as quickly as possible on the second. After retrieving the hoodie that looked so tantalizing, Harry strode from the room, feeling more powerful and in control than he'd felt in months. The forth floor hall was deserted. He stepped on bare feet across the dragon skin rug, passed an old portrait of one of Sirius's ancestors, and hesitated at the top of the landing leading to the floor below. To his right was Hermione's bedroom. If he opened the door just a click he'd be able to see her one last time. He mustn't. If he did, he ran the risk of never being able to leave. What he had to do was far too important to walk away from.

Each step down the wooden stairs sent a jolt into the healing gash in his stomach and shockwaves up the slices covering his ribs. He didn't care, he had to press on. When he found the supply closet he opened it a crack and found a small stock of pain relief potions. He stuffed a handful of them into the pocket of his sweatshirt. Two minutes later, he was snooping around in the kitchen, searching for something. When he came across Kreacher's cupboard, he stopped and stared at the closed door for a moment. He ran the risk of invoking the elf's wrath, but after just a few seconds of deliberation, decided it was worth it. He'd take care of the elf if need be.

Snatching the door open, his eyes scanned across the empty mess of old sheets and blankets with mild relief, searching along the variety of Dark items barely hidden beneath the mass of fabric, and came across what he was looking for. His fingers closed around the locket and snapped the door shut. Harry slid the unexpectedly heavy piece of metal into the pocket of his hoodie and walked up the stairs leading to the foyer. The front door glared at him while he stared at it, the first hint of doubt stirring in his brain. He reached into the pocket of his Muggle sweatshirt and snatched up one of the potions. His torso was beginning to ache in earnest. Popping the top off, he downed the potion in one swallow, his face scrunching involuntarily as the sour taste hit his tongue.

Harry took a deep breath and stepped towards the door. His fingers closed around the handle and he closed his eyes, about to pull it open.

"Going somewhere?"

Harry jumped, and the door flew off its hinges with a deafening crack, landing in a heap of broken wood in the front yard. Harry took two deep breaths and calmed himself. Glancing to his right, he found Sirius staring at him, the face he knew well hidden in shadows. Frozen to the spot, Harry stared at him, his lips pressing tightly shut.

"Not talking again?" Sirius whispered, stepping forward and into the light. His face was carefully neutral, but his eyes glanced at the gaping doorway several times. "I can't say I'm surprised. You've been through too much." Sirius stepped closer. Harry stepped back. They looked at each other in silence.

"Where are you going, Harry?" Sirius finally asked.

"To Hogwarts," he replied in a strained whisper, edging toward the open door.

Sirius looked surprised, but kept his composure. "Term doesn't start for another four days."

"I won't be staying."

"Then what are you going there for?"

Harry hesitated, his lips forming the words but he made no sound. "I need to speak with Dumbledore," he said finally.

Sirius's face shone with obvious relief. "Well you won't find him there," he said, "He's here, waiting for you to wake up."

"Which room?" Harry asked, his hand coming up to press against his stomach subconsciously, the pain still aching over the numbing of the potion.

Sirius noticed. "Let's not wake him. I'm sure whatever it is can wait a few more hours."

"It can't," Harry said, his face beginning to pale under the ache of his injuries.

"I'm sure you can though," Sirius said, his face now tight with worry as he nodded at the direction of Harry's fist bunching the fabric of his hoodie.

"I'm fine," Harry said and let his hand fall, though his voice was still quite strained.

"Harry -" Sirius said, his eyes now beseeching.

"I said, I'm fine, Sirius!" Harry barked, wincing as he did so.

"Charms and potions can only take you so far, Harry. You need to rest, or everything Madam Pomfrey has fixed will be for nothing," Sirius murmured.

Harry shook his head, unwilling to be distracted. "Tell me where I can find Dumbledore, or I'll find him myself."

Sirius scowled at him, seemingly finding him quite unreasonable. That was all fine, Harry thought, just tell me where he is. To his disappointment, however, Sirius said, "I won't tell you, Harry. You need to be in bed."

"Don't tell me what I need," Harry snapped. He lifted his hand and repaired the door with a flick of his wrist, then restored the door to rest back on its hinges. Sirius stared in apparent shock but Harry ignored him.

"How did you -" Sirius began.

"Please just tell me which room Dumbledore is in. It would save me a lot of trouble," Harry murmured, his eyes not meeting Sirius's.

"What happened to you, Harry?" Sirius whispered.

Harry sighed, running his hands through his unruly hair. He began to make his way back up the many stairs, Sirius following closely behind him. "He's on the fifth floor, Harry. Third door to the left," Sirius finally admitted begrudgingly.

Harry smiled in triumph and began to step quicker up the steps. When he reached the top of the third floor, however, his forehead had broken out in a cold sweat and he felt wetness beneath his sweatshirt. Sirius was still climbing the steps behind him, so he didn't dare show the pain that was beginning to sear through his abdomen.

By the top of the forth floor, Harry was beginning to slow down quite a bit. His legs weren't nearly as willing to move as they first had been when he left his bed. The pain ripping up and down his body had caused his vision to shrink, his peripherals reduced to darkness. He fell against the bannister, before grasping it tightly to regain his balance. He had to go on. No amount of pain would stop him.

"Harry," Sirius gasped, as he watched his godson stagger and stumble across the corridor. Harry passed Hermione's room without a glance, ignoring Sirius's summon, and continued to work his way down the hall. He was now using the wall beside him for support, his other hand finding his stomach again, this time finding the fabric covering it saturated in blood. Harry passed his own room and began to step up to the fifth floor.

"Harry, please," Sirius whispered.

He climbed the first step, then the second. When his foot hit the third, he gasped sharply and crumpled to the step beneath him. He groaned, white faced and angered, at the landing so far away. He had to get to Dumbledore. Crawling on trembling limbs, he pushed himself up another step.

"I've had enough!" Sirius cried, his arms scooping Harry off the stairs with unnerving ease and brought him back into his room. He expected Harry to protest, but the boy was silent in his arms, his face scrunched in pain. When he lay Harry back on his bed, Harry shuddered and reached in his pocket for another potion.

"Where did you get that?" Sirius asked, pulling the wooden chair by the desk over to Harry's bedside.

"I nicked them from your supply closet," Harry admitted with slight guilt.

"How many did you take?" Sirius asked casually, sitting.

Popping the top off, Harry downed the phial and shuddered like he had done with the first. "Four," he said truthfully.

"Will you tell me now what is so imperative that Dumbledore needs to know?" Sirius inquired, his face barely containing his interest.

"No. Please stop asking."

"Then will you at least tell me where you were for three days?"

"With Voldemort." Harry stole a glance out of the corner of his eye at Sirius. Some of the color had returned to Harry's face, but it was still tight with pain.

Sirius's eyes widened to their fullest extent. "He kept you alive for three days?"

"There were...complications. Complications I presume he didn't foresee," Harry muttered.

"Are you being very ambiguous on purpose?" asked Sirius, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes, actually. It's better you know as little as possible."

"And why as that?" Sirius wondered.

There had been a time in Harry's life where discussing his feeling with another person seemed like a scary and silly thing. Now it seemed quite important. "Because...I care about you."

Sirius stared at him for a long time. "I care about you too, Harry. I want you to be safe."

"I won't be safe. I won't ever be safe. Not while Voldemort is alive," Harry admitted.

They stared at each other in silence. Harry allowed Sirius to process what he meant. "I can hide you. The two of us can go into hiding together. We'll bring Buckbeak and -"

"If I leave, there will be no more hope for anyone."

"I don't give a damn about anyone else! You're my son, Harry, blood or not."

Harry turned his head toward the wall, a tightness building in his chest that had nothing to do with his injuries. "It has to be this way."

"The hell it does!" Sirius cried. But Harry had fallen silent. Sirius stared at him, his eyes shining. "You don't have to do anything," he said simply.

Harry grimaced, wishing Sirius was right. But what he had to do could only be done by him. He was the world's only chance of prevailing.

The sun rose over London lazily, unaware of Harry Potter's impatience. Sirius stayed by his bed, nodding off occasionally. Harry, on the other hand, stayed alert and awake. The pain in his belly certainly helped with this. By dawn, Madam Pomfrey had come in to see him. Sirius didn't need to rat out his early morning escapades to her, she knew immediately from the state of him.

"You need rest, young man!" said Madam Pomfrey looking at the oozing wounds on his torso, then turning to Sirius, "And I'd have thought you'd keep a closer eye on him."

"Why do you think he's in bed at all?" Sirius snapped, glaring. Harry ignored them both, feeling much better after the mediwitch's healing, and ready to begin his task anew. Shortly after Pomfrey left, Dumbledore entered at last. He was followed by Lupin which Harry found to be no good. He needed the headmaster alone.

"Harry, I've been told you've been looking for me," Dumbledore murmured. Harry glanced at Sirius before turning back to Dumbledore, nodding. "Excellent," he said, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "I just ask that you consult with Remus for a moment about your injuries. There is something most pressing about them."

Harry looked to Lupin, waiting for him to speak. He did, "Who bit you, Harry?"

"Greyback," Harry said. He watched Remus flinch subtly at the name.

"While he was still human?" Lupin wondered.

Harry nodded.

"And the scratches are from him as well?"

He nodded again.

"Was he a wolf or a human when he scratched you?"

"Wolf," said Harry, glancing down at his chest, again bare after Madam Pomfrey's examination, his hoodie lying on the bed next to him, now clean and dry.

"Did he bite you as a wolf?" Lupin asked, also looking at the bandages on his neck and chest.

Harry shook his head negatively.

"Did you turn two days ago?" inquired Remus, though his face told Harry he already knew the answer.

Again, Harry shook his head.

Lupin turned back to Dumbledore. "I don't think he's been infected, Headmaster. The virus is only spread through saliva and if he didn't change on the full moon then he can't have been turned."

"Let's not rule anything out just yet, Remus," Dumbledore replied softly, "Though, I believe you're right. It would seem that he hasn't been infected at all. How curious, though...it seems Greyback has grown a taste for human flesh."

Both Sirius and Remus shuddered. Dumbledore grinned at Harry who was staring directly at him.

"Are you ready to speak now, Harry?" he asked.

Harry took a deep, shaking breath. "Yes, Professor."

"Do you think we could have a moment, Remus, Sirius?" Dumbledore asked them politely.

They nodded their agreement and left the room, glancing back occasionally. A silence followed the sound of the door clicking shut.

"So..." Dumbledore began, filling Sirius's vacated seat, "I've heard from a source that the Department of Mysteries had been infiltrated. Of course, I use that term lightly. That makes it sound as if it were difficult for Voldemort to gain entry. Did he show you the prophecy?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I have to kill him. But you already know that, don't you?" Harry murmured, his eyes boring into his.

"I did, yes," Dumbledore confessed, "I didn't, however, want you to find out like that."

"I always suspected it anyway," Harry said, waving away his concerns, "But...I need your help. I need to find the Horcruxes. And I need to destroy them."

Dumbledore froze. He took several moments to stare at Harry, before finally saying, "How do you know of them?"

"You know of our connection," Harry whispered, pointing to his scar, "Something happened the night I escaped."

"What happened?"

Harry closed his eyes, and took a sharp breath. "He was about to kill me. He'd had his fun with me and it was time for him to end it. I was wandless, had been from the moment Greyback brought me there, so I didn't have a chance in hell. Or so I thought. He raised his wand and spoke the incantation for the Killing Curse. I put up my hand and..." Harry trailed off, his eyes far away.

"What happened next, Harry?" Dumbledore was leaning toward him, hanging on his words.

"It...stopped. The curse. It just hung there in the air, in front of my hand. And then, I felt that old pain in my forehead. The next thing I knew, I was in his head. I saw...everything," Harry whispered, swallowing thickly, "I knew I had to kill him, so I found out how."

"How did you escape?" Dumbledore asked, looking at him almost warily.

"I Disapparated."

"With no wand?"

Harry shook his head.

"Where are the Horcruxes?" Dumbledore asked after a moment, his voice slightly strained.

"One was the Diary. I suspect you already knew that as well. One is a goblet in Bellatrix's vault. Another is a diadem at Hogwarts. One of them is his pet snake. There were two more, as well, a ring and a locket. The ring was at an old house owned by someone named Gaunt. The locket, he thought anyway, was at this cave, surrounded by water and highly protected. But," Harry pulled the locket out of the pocket of his hoodie, "I'd seen this very locket last year when we were cleaning this place out. Kreacher had snuck it into his cupboard."

Dumbledore put out his hand. "May I?"

Harry closed his fist around the ovular charm before tucking it back in his pocket. "With all due respect, Headmaster, I don't trust you."

Lifting his chin, Dumbledore straightened the glasses upon his nose, saying, "Then why ask me for assistance?"

"Because I believe you're the only one with the power to help," Harry said simply.

Dumbledore nodded and pursed his lips. Looking at Harry sharply, he said, "What have I done to lose your trust, Harry?"

Harry looked at him, silent.

"Very well. Is there anything else you wish to tell me?" he murmured, his eyes rather cold.

Harry shook his head.

"Then I shall inform you that I've given you an additional week before you start your sixth term. You never took your O.W.L.s and it's mandatory that you do so. I have already arranged that you will take them on the fifth of September at the conference room in the Leaky Cauldron. You'll be expected at Hogwarts by the seventh."

Harry nodded once, an old feeling of unease slipping into his stomach as he thought of his examinations. It had been so long since he'd learned anything in class. Would he even be able to scrape one O.W.L. by?

Dumbledore left, understanding that Harry had resumed his silence. Harry had been temporarily pacified. Knowing he had relayed everything essential to the headmaster, he felt much more confident in his second quest. But, staying here for an extra week seemed like such a waste of time.

His door creaked open and Harry watched it carefully, his hands clenching into fists beneath his covers. "Harry?"

His fingers relaxed. He'd know that voice anywhere. Sure enough, Hermione entered the room a second later wearing a huge sweater and sweat pants. Harry took stock of her, finding the little hole in the knee of her sweats endearing. Throwing the blankets off of him, Harry stood from the bed. She ran to him, her arms snagging around his middle. Her body against his torso caused him pain, but he didn't give a damn. It was too lovely to have her nestled against him.

"I thought you were dead, Harry," she sobbed. He felt tears against the skin of his chest.

He stroked her hair, "I told you, Hermione: I can't die."

"That's impossible," she murmured, "No one's immortal."

He hugged her tighter, felt the bones of her ribs and spine beneath the cover of her oversized clothes. Harry knew he'd never get better. There were too many horrible memories, too many scars - both physical and mental - not to mention that he likely had less than a year before he met his fated death. But...if there was the slightest chance in hell that he could revive Hermione, he would do it. He would fix her before he left this world. It was his first quest.

"Lupin said...that you were a...that Greyback had..." Hermione began, seemingly unable to speak the word.

"I'm not a werewolf," Harry clarified.

She sighed in relief, "I was so worried. With everything that's happened to you...that seemed like the last thing you needed."

He smiled humorlessly. "I suppose you're right about that. It certainly would complicate things."

"Where have you been?" she asked after a moment.

Harry released her, sitting on the edge of his bed. "In hell."

She waited for him to continue. He didn't.

"I... You don't have to tell me. I understand," she whispered.

The morning light danced across the scars on his body, his bare torso looking quite ragged. His face - no longer black and blue - looked like a shadow of its former self: pale, devoid of emotion, the dark shadows beneath his eyes a now permanent fixture. Hermione couldn't help but notice how dead he looked...how much worse he seemed since she had seen him last. Whatever happened in the past three days had broken him further. She was certain. Sitting on the bed beside him, she ran a hand down his chest, feeling the grooves of his scars and the protruding curves of his ribs and sternum.

"I love you, Harry," she whispered.

Harry looked at her. "I love you too, sweetheart."

She blushed. "...Sweetheart?"

He smiled slightly, "It seems most fitting. That's what you have after all: a sweet heart."

She poked his bicep with a grin. "Stop."

Without giving her a moment to process, his lips were crushing hers. There was a ferocity inside it, clawing its way up his throat, desperate to ravage her. He beat it down, afraid of the viscous nature it possessed, until Hermione was pushing him into the bed, her hips pinning his to the mattress beneath them. His hands came up and ripped her shirt into pieces, a magical pulse doing most of the work. Hermione gasped above him, the cold air chilling her diminished torso.

He pulled away two centimeters. "I want you."

His glasses were suddenly flung across the room. "I'm already yours," she said.

Sex with Hermione was everything he had ever imagined: rough, demanding, a constant battle for dominance. Her body was emaciated, true, but so was his. His soul was broken, true, but so was hers. They gave whatever the other needed without question, without complaint. Hermione was surprised to discover how incredibly vocal he was, seemingly unable to contain the euphoric sounds bubbling up his lips. She loved the sounds he made, taking victory in the fact that while she struggled to make him speak, she could at least make him moan. Harry also proved to be a devious lover. How did he know the special places on and in her body to make her tingle, to make her weak? She could tell he was inexperienced just as she was. His blunders and silly mistakes were enough testament to this. But yet, there was no hesitation, as if he'd been waiting to bed her all his life. In that short half hour of their unity, it was as if nothing had ever happened to them, as if they were whole again. When it ended, they both fell into the bed exhausted, side by side, each marvelling silently in what they had both experienced.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered, clasping his hand.

He laughed - really laughed - as he said, "What are you thanking me for? That was the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Hermione agreed wholeheartedly.

They fell asleep moments later, naked, tangled, sweaty...hopelessly in love.

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 **A/N: I know how many of you read this story. Consequently, I know how many of you DON'T review. Jerks, :3**

 **Thanks for reading,**

 **~Charlie**


	10. The Order Stands Divided

**Content Warning: Nothing about this story is rated less than M, this chapter included. This story flirts with some very dark themes and is generally not suitable for younger audiences. If detailed violence of any kind, explicit language, or sexual content offends you, do us both a favor and find something else to read. Thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jk Rowling owns everything.**

 **Author's Note: Hello! Here's another chapter for you guys, hope you enjoy. I wanted to thank you again for all the support you guys show this story. You peope are the reason I keep writing! Stay beautiful.**

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Chapter 10: The Order Stands Divided

 _The chill of the air around him was bitter, biting against his skin where the pieces of his torn shirt exposed his body. The crackling of a distant fire, as well as the sound of ominous whispering stimulated his eardrums while he stared down at his trembling hands. It'd been so long since he'd eaten. What he wouldn't give for a drop of water. A small puddle of blood had settled between his hands - shoulder length apart - and a drop or two would slide up his neck to his chin where it would drip, splashing crimson onto the black, marble floor beneath him and disappearing into the numerous other droplets that had escaped from the pulsating wound on his throat._

 _"When, my Lord?" a shrill, female voice whispered, carrying above all others._

 _When Voldemort spoke, the rest of the room fell silent. "Soon, Bella," he said, striding closer to the caved and bleeding mess of a near man with blood encrusted, jet black hair, "Now that Potter knows everything, it's time for us to end it. As...equals." The last word could hardly be called anything but a sneer. Harry was wandless, broken, battered, starving, and sixteen years old. To say this was equality was laughable._

 _A pair of long, white feet partially covered by a black, slightly frayed cloak entered into Harry's vision. He swallowed and thought of Hermione. Would he ever see her again? Surely this was the reason why he'd had temporary immortality. His destiny was to destroy Voldemort or die trying; no others could take him from that outcome. And this was the end, staring down at Harry with vicious eyes, crimson as the blood that was shed in its path._

 _"Don't fret, young Harry," Voldemort cooed, bending to whisper, "You'll be with your dear mother and father soon. But before then, I have a special guest arriving. She specifically requested the opportunity to watch your long awaited death. I thought it fair considering the numerous times she tried to end you herself on my behalf."_

 _The air felt colder, tighter. Harry knew who Voldemort was referring to and his heart stopped beating. Only moments later were his fears confirmed as nightmarish fact. The clatter of wide heels snapped in his ears, making him glance up involuntarily. The sound invoked a fight or flight reaction within the cavity of his paralyzed chest, though he had the strength for neither, and his body prepared for the onslaught, for pain._

 _"Mr. Potter," Umbridge said, her tinkling voice making the hairs on his arms stand on end, "I dare say I've been waiting for this moment since we first met. Thank you, My Lord, for waiting as I finished my work at the Ministry before beginning this most noble task."_

 _The dark wizard smiled in what was clearly intended to be a gracious way - an odd expression on the nose-less, serpentine face. "I wouldn't allow you to miss it for the world, Dolores. You've done me a service, breaking this boy in as you have. Not to mention," Voldemort said, now addressing his followers, "The great and honorable position Dolores has accepted to lead in the Ministry. She is a crusader for our ideal world."_

 _Umbridge bowed her head with a wide, toad-like grin. Her eyes bored into Harry's. It gave him chills...made him want to hide or to run or to bash her head against the solid marble aching his bony knees until her brain and her blood was smattered across the floor like a gory abstract. Harry nearly smiled at the thought. How glorious that would be..._

 _"Dolores, my dear," Voldemort drawled, twirling his wand between the slender, abnormally long fingers, "Perhaps you'd like to give us a demonstration...show them how it's done. I'd be ashamed to admit how many of my own have fought this boy and left him unscathed."_

 _Umbridge puffed herself out to her fullest size. Harry wanted to jab a knife into her belly and see if she would pop like a balloon. He continued to imagine the triumph of spilling her blood while her wand aimed at his forehead. The Cruciatus Curse engulfed him and Harry thought no more. Had hours passed? Days? Months? Years? Did it matter anymore? He just wanted the pain to end. He wanted...no, needed death. When the curse stopped, people were laughing, watching him writhe and pointing with ballistic smiles. Harry ignored them, staring at the ceiling as he now found himself flat on his back._

 _"Shall we go again, Harry? Did you enjoy that?" Voldemort's high, chilling voice asked while Umbridge's bubbly giggle reminded him of a high stone ceiling and the smell of his own blood._

 _Harry continued to gasp silently at the chandelier dangling above him, an image of a bushy haired witch flittering through his mind in random flashes. He had to find her. He had to get back. But how? He was completely disarmed... When the second curse struck him, he couldn't contain the screams of anguish that shattered the crisp air. His hands clawed at the marble, at his chest, at his head, until his fingernails were bloody from the abuse. Then it was over again as quickly as it came. The laughter sounded hollow and far away this time. He shook gingerly on the hard stone, the aches in his body the only indication that he was still alive._

 _Hermione..._

 _Like a prayer, Umbridge sighed,_ "Crucio," _and he was crushed beneath the waves of agony once more. He kicked and writhed, swinging blindly at anything that could possibly be in the vicinity to strike but he found purchase on nothing except for his own limbs and the solid floor upon which he lay. It ended again, and the laughter became recognizable in the air once more._

 _"That's not all you did to him, Dolores," Voldemort murmured, now standing quite close to Harry's head, "You were quite creative, weren't you? Why don't you show my friends how to really torture someone?"_

 _Umbridge gave no verbal indication that she had heard. But the next moment she had cried_ ,"Diffindo!" _and a great slash appeared upon Harry's belly beneath the slices the werewolf had given him. He felt the blood begin to seep from the gash, pour down his stomach, spilling over his sides. Granting no time to react, she had already plunged a jagged blade into his left thigh, burrowing through the flesh until it struck the marble on the other side. When she twisted the blade, it scraped his bone._

 _Harry almost lost consciousness. Before his eyes slid entirely shut, Umbridge was striking his face with earnest - forcing him awake. He shook his head, his lips clamped tightly shut as he grabbed wildly at her throat. There was a moment as he stared into her eyes where Harry truly believed that he would become a murderer until a sharp kick to his ribs created a sickening snap in the air as one or two of the hard bones shattered around his lungs. Harry gasped, a wetness building in his throat, and his hand fell away from her neck as his eyes began to slide closed._

 _"We shall do the murdering tonight, Potter. Not you, the Golden Boy. We wouldn't want you to ruin your image now. No...your soul shall remain pure," Voldemort jibed, much to the delight of his followers._

 _Umbridge struck Harry around the face again, jerking him back into awareness for the second time. This continued for hours. The longer it went, the worse it became until he was barely breathing, barely alive. That was when the Dark Lord decided to end it._

 _Harry was pulled to his feet by Voldemort's command, struggling to balance on his injured legs. Voldemort grinned maliciously, his eyes only on Harry. There was a moment of hesitation, perhaps to rouse suspense. No one in the hall spoke. Harry, still trembling, looked to Umbridge standing beside Voldemort with as much hatred as he could muster. In that thirty seconds where their eyes met, something feral snapped inside of him, unlocking, unleashing. Harry's vision grew distorted while his trembling turned into actual vibrations, a faint glow beginning to rise from his body._

 _Voldemort had seen enough and pointed his wand at the boy who was beginning to disturb him. This made the glow brighten, expand, before the Death Eaters and their kin were backing away, shielding their eyes. Voldemort opened his mouth and spoke the words, "Avada Kedavra!"_

 _There was a flash of green and behind Harry's eyes, was the smile of a girl that he loved more than the Earth itself. He raised his blinding hand - he would not die like this...he hadn't even said goodbye - and the curse froze. There was a flash of light. Harry cried out as his head split open, bursting from the connection he shared with a man who was his opposite._

"Harry?"

Something shoved him roughly and a gutteral, animalistic cry escaped his mouth. His hand enclosed instinctively around the throat of the person who had touched him. His hands began to shake with an unseen force, power - magic - coursing through his fingers. Then a scent washed over him - lavender, parchment, honey...Hermione...

His vision suddenly cleared to reveal a bushy haired girl, suffocating beneath his tightening hand. Eyes widening, he pulled away, throwing himself off the bed and dashing across the room. The sound of her choking reached him, but his head was pressed against the wall farthest from her, as he gasped in abject horror.

"Harry..." she rasped. The sound of ruffling sheets and padded steps told him she was making her way towards him. He backed into a corner, his eyes never meeting hers, until he felt purchase of both walls where he slid down to the floor. He tied his body into a knot, protectively. Whether he was protecting himself or Hermione was unknown.

"Harry..." she said again, her voice now sounding almost normal. When Harry glanced up at her, he saw that she was still naked and realized with a start that so was he. The memory of their joining pricked in his heart but he buried it. It was best to not get attached...not when he was going to die. Hermione would get better with his help - he was determined - but he had little time left and to begin something beautiful seemed a waste of his lover's heart.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Hermione whispered, kneeling next to him and touching his bare knee.

Harry pulled his leg tighter into his chest, a clear indication that he did not wish her to touch him. She looked hurt but didn't comment, instead drawing her arm back into her side.

"Are you okay?" she whispered.

Harry glanced at her before squeezing his eyes shut, rocking slowly back and forth, trying to quell the spiralling fear mounting in his chest. His mouth was dry; his lips were sealed shut.

"Harry, please talk to me," Hermione said, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.

He tried; he really did. He opened his mouth, shaped the words he wanted to say, but his voice box simply wouldn't vibrate, simply wouldn't produce sound. Dropping his head onto his knees, his bitten fingernails dug into the skin of his forearms, ripping as best as he could against the skin in an effort to force himself to speak. If he couldn't talk, then he would punish himself until he made sound.

Hermione grabbed his fingers - her heart giving a sharp pang when he flinched - before she tried to yank them away from his body. "Harry, it's okay. You're safe now."

His eyes filled with tears. He was safe _for_ now. In a few months, he would be dead and Hermione would be alone. Perhaps it was better for her to lose him gradually rather than all at once. Then a sickening thought occurred to him: what if she didn't care either way? What if he was just a means to make her awful situation better, although never making a mark in her heart? He wanted to vomit at the thought. Even if he could form the words to ask her...she would never tell him the truth. She was much too kind.

Hermione looked on the verge of tears, her bony face sinking into a deep frown. "Please...don't do this," her voice was nothing more than a whisper. But she knew what he was doing...she knew he was letting her go. After everything they had been through together, after all that they had confessed, he was letting her go. It couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it. Her hands enveloped his face - ignoring the fearful flinch that shuddered through his body. She stared at him, glaring into his agonized eyes. It was several moments before his stiff form finally relaxed into her touch. It wasn't until then did she speak.

"I don't know what happened to you the last few days," she began, the tears building in earnest in her eyes, "And you don't have to tell me. But don't you dare push me away! We're all we have. I love you, in case you forgot. You can't walk away from this now...not when we've gotten so far."

Harry shuddered, his eyes searching the room around them trying in vane to hide the pain, the fear, the desperation he felt at her words. She didn't know how little time they had left. And since his goddamn mouth wasn't working, he couldn't even tell her if he wanted to. His eyes caught the corner of the notebook Sirius had given him and he touched Hermione's hands gently. She understood what he wanted and released him, watching warily as he walked toward the desk at the far corner of his room. Her eyes traced his naked body, lingering on the scars disrupting the milky white skin of his back. They made her angry and nauseous. He made a pit stop at his bed, dragging the fluffy black comforter to their spot in the corner. When he'd settled onto the floor, he threw the blankets over them, pulling Hermione into his side as he did so. She snuggled against his shoulder, a twinge of relief lessening the frightened pressure in her heart just a bit.

Harry opened the cover to the first page, crossing out the one sided conversation already scribbled there in his untidy scrawl. Then, he wrote. Hermione didn't try to read around his hand, rather she contented herself to sniffing the sweet scent of him: peppermint, cedarwood, oakmoss. She committed it to memory, revelling in the way it made her nose tingle with delight. Finally, after nearly five minutes, Harry handed her over the short paragraph covered in cross outs and revisions. She read silently, her trained eyes sliding gracefully over the script even as they filled with unshed tears.

It read: "I don't want to push you away. I love you too, more than I could ever properly describe, especially in writing. But I discovered some things about myself when I was missing...I found out the truth to my fate. I have to kill him, Hermione. I'm the only one who can. I won't survive. I can't. I'm still just a kid and he's the most powerful dark wizard of all time. You're going to lose me in the end...wouldn't it be easier to let me go now? So you can move on before I'm pushing up daisies?"

She read over the paper once, twice, then a third before she was certain she understood. "Harry," she whispered, "Don't say that. You...you." But the reality of it was crushing her. Would he survive when he had to face Voldemort? And if he did, then that meant that Harry would have to become a murderer himself. Her stomach twisted violently. Harry looked into her eyes, his pain taking on a new meaning to Hermione's scrutinizing stare. She bit her lip before saying the scorching words, "Even if it comes to that...I'd rather be with you until the end."

Harry smiled morbidly, his eyes suddenly looking very wet as he scribbled once more across the page, "I don't want to hurt you more."

"You've never hurt me," she said honestly.

He touched her neck gently, looking at the faint marks his hand left on her skin with a near feral expression.

"That was an accident," she muttered, swiping his hand away, "Besides, you'd be hurting me by avoiding me. You'd be robbing me from the time we have together. And...if you...when the time comes, it wouldn't be you hurting me. It would be him...it would be the world and the cruelty in it."

Harry looked away just in time to hide the tears sliding down his cheeks. He wiped them away angrily, pulling the comforter up to his face and squeezing it furiously in his hands. Why did the world have to be so horrid? Why could he never find happiness? His heart felt shattered in his chest, as if his own personal supernova had occurred in his ribcage, exploding the organs inside him, leaving him hollow and empty, voided like a black hole.

"It's you and me...until the end. And - god forbid - if you don't make it, Harry...I won't be far behind," Hermione whispered.

He was suddenly forcing her to floor beneath them, his hands grasping her wrists, holding them above her head. He was shaking so violently, she thought for a fleeting moment that he had lost his mind. "You...," he choked, "You can't! Don't ever...s-say that!"

She lay still beneath him, staring up into his eyes. Calmly, she whispered, "And what if I were to die? Would you wait around, soulless and empty and broken, for your natural end? Or would you seek it out?"

His face twisted into an expression of such pain she swore she could feel it just from looking at him. It was an expression of a man on fire, burning, while he tried to extinguish those that he loved. He shook his head furiously, his lips forming a tight line. He forced out three more words, simple but incredibly powerful, "You deserve happiness."

"No more than you," she said evenly. How she was so calm outwardly, was a mystery. Inside, she felt like she had already died.

He was shaking his head, wondering how the hell she couldn't see how vital her survival was to him. Whether he was alive or dead, Hermione needed to be happy. He could never find peace without this. He had opened his mouth, possibly to force more words from his unwilling lips, when a sharp knock on his door had him frozen on the spot. He looked down at the love of his life, still trapped beneath him, staring up at him like she'd just seen the sunset for the first time.

"Harry? Hermione?" It was Sirius.

Harry flew off of her, stealing the blanket as well as he tucked himself into the corner, hiding his unnaturally thin body from sight beneath it. Hermione watched him go, a twinge of pity and remorse filling her chest while she rushed to clothe herself.

"Just a minute!" she called, yanking up her jeans, clasping her bra, and staring in horror at the shredded mess that was her shirt. "Harry!" she hissed to no avail. In a stroke of inspiration, she threw his black hoodie up and over her head, relishing once more in his tantalizing scent. A moment later found her wrenching the door open and staring into Sirius's worried face.

"Hermione, where's Harry?" he asked.

"He's," she glanced at the unmoving lump in the corner, "Sleeping."

"I would normally never ask, but can you wake him? Something...very grave has happened. I need the two of you downstairs," Sirius whispered, his eyes appearing almost tortured.

Hermione felt her throat catch, "I...erm, yes, hold on." She clicked the door shut, hearing Sirius's steps retreating down the hall and turned to face the empty corner. Harry was now standing instead behind her, trousers already pulled on and a clean shirt in his hands.

He held it out for her with a meaningful glance at his hoodie. She blushed, and traded with him. "We'll talk about this later, yes?" she asked, lifting a brow.

His hand flew over the notebook in his arms before displaying it for her: "There's nothing more to say."

"We hardly even broached the subject," she murmured, wrenching the door open. Walking down the many flights of steps in silence, they followed a stream of yellow light in the foyer emerging from the kitchen stairs. Voices were hissing in low tones as they stepped down the steps fearfully. There seemed to be many of them.

When their feet were planted firmly on the landing, the voices ceased and all eyes were on them. Rather, all eyes were on Harry. Dumbledore, Lupin, the entirety of the Weasley clan with the exception of the ever absent Percy, Tonks, Shacklebolt, Moody, and several others sat around the long kitchen table staring in stunned silence at the dead eyed boy they used to know so well. Sirius, who sat at the head of the large, cherry table, cleared his throat meaningfully, already well aware of the faint line of sweat beading on his godson's forehead from the relentless scrutiny of the many eyes in the room.

"Harry, Hermione," he said, his voice grave, "Take a seat."

There were two chairs open; two - fortunately - right next to each other. One was beside Sirius's place on the left and Harry scurried quickly over to it, the notebook clutched into his chest like a lifesaver. Hermione sat beside him, squeezing his thigh beneath the table. He flinched like always, but relaxed almost instantly beneath the pressure of her touch. His eye caught on a familiar face - youthful, red headed, Ron... The sight of his best friend made his eyes feel oddly wet. It was almost too surreal to be sitting here with the entirety of the Order, almost as if nothing had ever happened to completely and utterly destroy his short life.

"We've gathered you here to share a piece of frightening information with you all. Granted, if any of you still follow the rubbish the Profit is spewing as of late, you already know about what I refer to. For the rest of you...well, brace yourselves," Sirius said, his eyes lingering regretfully on Hermione's tense face. He continued with, "Professor Dumbledore, perhaps you'd like to continue?"

Harry's eyes narrowed and he glared down at the uneven patterns of scars on his hands while he waited for the headmaster to speak.

Dumbledore leaned forward onto the table, resting his arms along the deep, reddish wood as he began, "As we all now realize, Voldemort -" several people flinched at the sound of the name, "- has undoubtedly taken over the Ministry. Although we have done everything in our power to prevent this, it has happened. Of course, he remains hidden for now, controlling from the sidelines, under the mask of the Imperious Curse and blackmail. But, he has made grave steps to ensuring our world is twisted into his idea of a perfect society.

"Voldemort has created a Muggleborn registration committee. He expects all Muggleborns and their families to register and has made it unlawful to hide or to refuse. This directly effects one of our own," Dumbledore indicated a hand at Hermione, whose face had turned very white. "Of course," he continued, "All Muggleborn students will be safe at Hogwarts. That safety doesn't extend to their families, however, some of whom have already been tagged by Voldemort and his followers."

Hermione paled further, her face turning a frightening shade of grey. Harry grasped her hand beneath the table, comprehending where her train of thought had wandered.

"Professor..." Hermione whispered, looking at Dumbledore with a haunted expression, "My parents...are they safe?"

There was a tight silence around the table in which Harry could almost feel the anxiety pouring off of his girlfriend's now trembling form.

"Hermione," Sirius began, his eyes filled with pain and sorrow, "That's a big part of the reason why we've called you down here. Your parents...well..."

Dumbledore looked at the girl with untamed hair, his hand raising in a motion of comfort, as he murmured, "Your parents have gone missing. A note was left behind at your home, addressed to you. No one has read it, as it's your property, but if there is information regarding your parents' whereabouts, please know that everyone of us are ready to help recover them." The Professor extracted a plain, white envelope from inside his emerald green robes, stretching across the table with long arms to hand it over into Hermione's shaking fingers.

The room went silent. Hermione opened the parcel slowly, as if she was afraid of its spontaneous combustion. Harry watched, not as the note with tight, slanted script emerged from the receptacle, but instead Hermione's lurid face gradually morph into utter consternation. He felt sick watching the transition, hoping beyond hope that everything was fine with her family, already knowing all too well the crushing torment that comes with the loss of loved ones.

"He has them," she said weakly, glancing dazedly about the distressed faces around the table. "They're being held in Azkaban."

Dumbledore closed his eyes, while Sirius dropped his face into his hands. After a moment Professor Dumbledore spoke again, "Many others have also suffered the same fate. But don't fret, Miss Granger, we still have some of our own with deep connections in the Ministry." Dumbledore nodded to Tonks and Kingsley who smiled professionally at Hermione whose trembling had become so terrible the sound of her teeth chattering was audible to them even four seats away. Unperturbed, Dumbledore said, "They will do everything in their power to ensure your parent's freedom from Azkaban. Both Miss Tonks and Mr. Shacklebolt are very adapt at getting things done in the Ministry.

"In light of everything that has happened, I think now is the time to divulge into the most pressing topic of all: Harry Potter," he continued, crossing his hands upon the tabletop. Harry glanced up and wished that he hadn't. All the faces in the room were pointed in his direction, marred with curiosity or pity or fear, in some cases all three. Swallowing heavily, Harry glanced at Hermione who was chewing her fingernails, staring trepidly at the portrait of the shifty eyed man. Dumbledore cleared his throat, saying after, "Harry is the key to our success in this war. Without him, Voldemort cannot be stopped."

"Headmaster," Molly Weasley began, her eyes widening, "You don't mean to tell me that you still expect this boy to fight You-Know-Who, do you? Harry has already been through so much! How could you possibly expect him to win? He's still a child!"

Dumbledore looked at her, his face grave, "I do not expect this, Molly. Harry's fate demands it."

"Then take him away from this all! Train him for a few years, let him recover from the hell he's already been through!" Molly demanded, her face furious. Arthur flickered between his wife and Dumbledore, looking rather torn as to who to side with.

"How much longer can we wait Molly?" Dumbledore asked.

Lupin slapped his hand on the table, "I won't stand to have Harry slaughtered for the good of mankind. Harry being alive is for the good of mankind."

Sirius seemed ready to whop in glee at his old friend's proclamation, although thought better of it judging from the pressed lips to the clenched fists hidden upon his lap. In the seat next to him, Harry mourned for those sitting around him, knowing in a few months time, he would never see them again...knowing that their fears were going to become reality and that there was nothing they could do to stop it.

"Ultimately," said Dumbledore with an air of passivity, "It is up to Harry who has already expressed his desire to end Voldemort himself."

Again, all eyes bore into the boy trying to sink into the wood of the chair supporting him. Harry pretended not to notice them. A hand grabbed his, and Harry jumped forcefully. It was Sirius...only Sirius.

"Is that why you wanted to see the headmaster yesterday? To tell him you wanted to fight?" There was an edge to Sirius's voice.

Sirius's accusation wasn't entirely correct. Harry had vital information for Dumbledore - who stood the best chance of helping Harry gather the items he needed. But, then, saying Harry had surrendered himself to the fight was not a lie either. He bowed his head.

Sirius's fist was slamming into the table, his furious eyes fixed upon Dumbledore's calm face. "You can't do this! Harry has a right to live!"

"Absolutely," agreed Lupin, his face fierce.

Molly crossed her arms in morbid satisfaction while Arthur gazed at Harry's receded body, curled in on itself, an occasional tremor running through him. This was not the image of a man ready to fight. It was the image of a boy who'd lost everything.

"Professor," Arthur began, "Perhaps it would be in our best interest to allow Harry to train up a bit. Give him a chance to recuperate and learn how to properly harm someone if need be."

Dumbledore sighed. "I understand where you are all coming from. I do not wish to send Harry to the wolves either. However, our time is growing ever shorter and we can no longer wait to take Voldemort down. I intend to train the boy myself during this school year. Hopefully, any training I can pass on to him will give him a fighting chance."

There was a tense silence in which no one seemed to quite know what to say. Harry always had this unstoppable way about him, this uncanny ability to triumph in even the most daring of situations. But the evidence was in front of them now: he was a boy who had been dangled in front of the teeth of hungry psychopaths one too many times. He'd been snatched beneath the water to resurface mangled in every sense of the word. Now Dumbledore was suggesting they tie him back onto the stick and dangle him again, this time even cutting him loose over their enemy's den. But to disregard this plan was to disregard Dumbledore, their triumphant leader.

"There must be another way," Kingsley said, "It must be done without Harry."

"It cannot," Dumbledore murmured, "The prophesy has demanded it to be so."

A collection of gasps and murmurs whispered across the table. Bill Weasley, who had otherwise been silent for the duration of the meeting, finally put in his two cents, "So the rumors are true? There really is a prophesy?"

Dumbledore nodded, his bright blue eyes appearing rather dim. "It roughly states that Harry is the only one who can triumph over the Dark Lord."

That was a lie, Harry decided, his eyes fixing critically upon Dumbledore's. The prophecy stated that he would either have to kill or be killed. The chances of Harry triumphing in any regard over Voldemort were slim at best. Hermione's hand tightened around his.

"What do you suggest then, Dumbledore?" asked Arthur Weasley, "How do we proceed?"

Dumbledore stroked the long, white beard hanging from his chin, the fingers seemingly moving of their own accord. "I will train Harry during the school year to prepare him for the fight. I fear it won't be long now, a year at most before Voldemort starts making major moves against us."

"And what will this training consist of?" Sirius muttered, his face dark.

"Oh, a bit of this and a bit of that." Dumbledore's eyes shone once more. "I shall teach him how to properly duel, how to read his enemies, and how to protect himself from harm."

"And you intend to do this in ten months?" Sirius asked, his forehead wrinkling beneath the strain of his disbelief.

Kingsley cleared his throat, "If Dumbledore believes he can prepare Harry for the danger that is to come, then I will put my faith in him."

"I'm not too keen on the idea of letting my godson attempt to take down our enemy alone, 'prepared' or not. When it comes to a head, you can expect me to be by your side every step of the way, Harry," Sirius said, his face shining with a fierce determination, "And, by god, that son of a bitch will have to take me down first before he gets another chance to end the Potters."

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other. Sirius's promise filled them both with a new hope. Suddenly, Bill Weasley had stood from his chair. "You have my wand as well, Harry. What you did for Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets is enough of a reason to give my life for you."

"All of us!" cried Molly, joining her son on her feet, "We will all stand and fight for you. You have been a part of our family for years now."

"You can count on me too, Harry." Tonks stood from her place beside Kingsley. On her other side rose Remus, his prematurely aged face filled with the same passion as Sirius's.

He said, "Me, as well, of course. I owe it to you and James."

Nearly everyone stood from the table - with the exception of Moody, Kingsley, and Dumbledore - and their eyes filled with promise and determination. Harry glanced at them all in turn. He stood from the table, his hands trembling. He opened his mouth, felt the familiar tightening in his wind pipe, and snapped it shut again. The nervous sweat had begun to dew along his face and neck as the rise and fall of his chest spiked to a frightening speed.

Harry dashed from the room.

Standing to her feet, Hermione gave an apologetic smile to each confused face around the table and ran after him. Sirius grimaced, his pale face following the hem of Hermione's jeans up the stairs until it disappeared on the floor above.

"What was that all about?" asked Moody, his magical eye fixed upwards, following a moving target no one else could see.

"Harry doesn't like to be the center of attention, particularly since...it happened," Sirius said as he scrutinized Moody's apathetic expression.

"What exactly happened to him, Sirius?" Molly asked. "The papers don't give any information on it. And Arthur tells me Umbridge has been reinstated at the Ministry."

"I don't know much myself," Sirius admitted, "Harry doesn't like to talk about it. But I do know that she tortured him with the Cruciatis Curse, among other things. Hermione knows, but she also refuses to talk about it."

"Hermione was there with him, wasn't she?" Ron whispered, his face paler than usual.

Sirius nodded, looking at Ron curiously.

"Well, it's time you children went to bed," Molly said, her motherly voice stern. Ron and Ginny didn't argue like usual. The members of the Order began to plan well into the night.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading!**

 **~Charlie**


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